
Class 
Book.. 







Gojjyiiglit^ . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



/ 





He found himself again in the corner of the drawing-room sofa.'' 1 

— Regi's own Story, p. 14. 



Bric-a-Brac Stories 



MRS. BURTON HARRISON 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

WALTER CRANE 






NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1885 



Copyright, 1885, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



1ST I 



TROWS 

PRINTING AND BOOK BINDING COMPANY. 

NEW YORK. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Regi's Own Story, i 

The Samovar's Story, 17 

The Story of the Three Silver Feathers, ... 31 

The Story of the Arabian Pipe, , 48 

The Norwegian Wedding Crown's Story, ... 63 

The Chinese Mandarin's Story, 76 

The Arabian Paper-knife's Story, ... . . .83 

The Story of the Moorish Dish, 95 

The Story of the Toreador's Sword, .... 107 

The Walrus Tooth's Story, 118 

The French Fan's Story, 131 

The Story of the Silver Porringer, . . . 154 

The Swiss Clock's Story, 167 

The German Chatelaine's Story, 179 

The Quill Pen's Stories, 207 

The Oaken Settle's Story, . . ... 225 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Scotch Hunting Horn's Story, .... 242 

The Italian Harp's Story, 269 

Regi's Own Story, 283 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" He found himself again in the corner of the drawing- 
room sofa."— Regi's Own Story, p. 14, . Frontispiece 

" 1 hold your plumage, fair Swan-Lady ," he said ; " what 

will you give me if 1 return it to you ?" . . .24 

" Immediately a tiny being hopped from under the leather 
scraps at his feet, and placing his arms akimbo, 
laughed a goblin laugh in the astonished Taffy 1 's face" 36 

" Soon a pair of hands rose to the surface, and Joodar with 

an exclamation of joy cast out his net briskly" . .51 

" Jonas rode straight to the king's palace, and offered 

himself to go in search of the lost maiden," . . .68 

" When the princess came timidly into Grimsbork's stall 
the great beast began stamping and kicking so that she 
ran away in terror," 74 

" When evening came they got into the boat again, 

wreathing it with flowers from prow to stern" . . 78 



x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 



" Out came a dome of glass like a soap-bubble, rising into 

the air" ......... 94 

' ' So saying, the lady plucked a branch of myrtle from a 

bush" .......... 100 

' ' Terrified out of his wits, he crouched panting on the 

ground" no 

" ' I have drink here worthier of a hero, 1 said Sun Bright, 

with a smile," . . . . . . . .126 

'Immediately, the blue bird flew in at the window, and 
spoke to her in a voice that exactly resembled Charm- 
ing's," 142 

" ' Oh ! Fve only broken off one tiny leaf, 1 said Christina, 
feeling very guilty " . . . . . . . 157 

" There lay a silver dish, heaped with roast beef, and be- 
side it a loaf of bread." 171 



a t 



I am here, dearest little one — I— your own godmother,'' 
said the Nix -lady," 186 

' She stole down the long flight of quiet stairs to the 
streets," 195 

< ' My good Monsieur Seguin, I am tired to death of living 
with you, 1 she said," 211 

''At the portal, a charming fairy stood waving white 
arms to beckon him within," ..... 221 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. xi 

PAGB 

" The monster, starting up, saw the morning sun gleam 

upon his enemy's glittering armor." . . . .238 

" A wild gallop was that, over ploughed fields a?id stony 
glens, up-hill and down," ...... 247 

" The ruffians closed around him, and with their, lances 

forced him into the foaming river." .... 258 

" 'Now, sir, you may judge for yourself J said Chichibio," 272 

" ' Well, perhaps you 7nay keep this cudgel for me, 1 an- 
swered sleepy Antony," . . . . • .281 

" She glided to the door, and returned, leading a live boy, 

almost if not exactly his own size," .... 298 



DEDICATED 

TO 

FAIRFAX, FRANK AND ARCHY 



/N dealing with the folk-tales of different nations 
herein embodied and retold, I have exercised my 
fancy in preserving for embellishment only the features 
commending themselves to the youthful audience espe- 
cially addressed; sometimes, a bare outline or a mere 
suggestion has been invested with substance and decked 
in a livery of local color ; in some instances, the orig- 
inal tale has been condensed and modified to the re- 
quirements of space and of modern taste. For mate- 
rial, I am indebted to the collections of the following 
authors : Afanasief, R. B. Anderson, Asbjornsen, 
Basile, Boccaccio, Caballero, Daudet, D'Aulnoy, Keight- 
ley, Hanley, Irving, Leyden, Wirt Sikes, Vernalaken, 
Wyss and Weiland, 

C. C //. 
New-Yorky 1885. 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 

Christmas was close at hand, and the weather in 
New York was nipping cold. A light rain, freezing as 
it fell in the morning, had glazed the pavements with 
a coat of ice, while the trees in the parks, and the end- 
less maze of telegraph and telephone wires along the 
streets, were cased in shining crystal. 

During the last hour of the afternoon, before the 
electric light had begun to shed its white radiance 
over the chilly world below, a little boy's face had 
been pressed against the window pane in the drawing- 
room of a spacious house in upper Fifth Avenue. 
Regi had exhausted the resources of nursery and play- 
room. He had tumbled and jumped in solitude in his 
gymnasium ; had printed, on his new press, a card 
apiece, as a Christmas offering for Papa and Fred, 
"with the compliments of Reginald Arthur Stan- 
dish, Jr. ; " had roller-skated along the maids' passage- 
way until those long-suffering females, sympathetic as 
they were in general with the companionless little fel- 
low, fairly put him to rout with good-humored scold- 
ings. Regi's next act was to make a foray upon the 
glass dishes set out in the butler's pantry for dessert, 
where, after capturing some nuts and figs, he exer- 
cised Bran, his hound, in the new trick of bounding 
up to catch a lump of sugar as it was tossed into the 
air. 



2 REGI'S OWN STORY. 

But, spite of these excitements, time seemed to drag. 
There was no sign of a cab driving up to the door, and 
of Fred — dear, splendid Fred — jumping out of it with 
his bags and sticks and umbrellas — the sight Regi most 
longed to see. Fred was his big brother, the pride of 
his youthful heart — a dreadfully old person, who must 
have been at least nineteen — and who had not been at 
home since returning to college after the Thanksgiving 
holidays. 

To make my young readers better understand the 
wonderful events befalling Regi during this Christmas- 
tide, I must go back a little to tell something of his 
previous life. The Standishes had not always lived in 
this fine house in a spacious avenue. The home where 
Regi was born, and where his poor mamma had died, 
was in a more unpretending quarter of the town. He 
could well remember the sunny nursery of the old 
house, with its threadbare carpet, the open fire guarded 
by a high screen, ivies and geraniums growing in the 
windows, and the walls and door panels decorated by 
Fred and himself with cut-out pictures of the liveliest 
description. In that nursery, where Biddy Flanagan, 
familiarly styled " Chickabiddy " by her charge, reigned 
with loving sway, the furniture had passed through 
various stages of dismemberment and scratching, until 
scarcely an article of it could boast the full allowance 
of knobs, arms, feet, or polished surface. Enchanting 
to Regi's memory were those battered chests of draw- 
ers and armless rocking-chairs, and, above all, the closet 
near at hand, where a rockin'g-horse, without mane or 
tail or eyes, kept guard over invalid tin soldiers, the rag- 
ged remnant of Noah's train, torn books, and wrecked 
toys, in a delightful hodge-podge. Where were they 
now, these signs and tokens of a boisterous babyhood ? 



REGI'S OWN" STORY, 3 

Some three years before the opening of our story, 
Regi's mother had passed away from life, and his father, 
always a busy man, had plunged deeper into the affairs 
that kept him almost a stranger to his family. Soon after, 
Miss Lynch appeared upon the scene, and suddenly, 
no one knew exactly how or why, honest Mistress 
Flanagan, shedding a Niagara of tears and blessings 
over her nurseling, betook herself and her belongings 
out of the house where she had lived since Fred wore 
kilted petticoats. Regi, found by the new governess 
kicking on the nursery floor and howling for his 
Chickabiddy, was requested by that lady to accompany 
her on a visit to his grandmamma's, a proceeding at all 
times calculated to subdue the infant spirit. Regi owed 
his governess to the recommendation of grandmamma, 
herself an invalid old lady with nerves, who lived in a 
great silent house in Washington Square, attended by 
a companion whose duty it was to talk about medicines 
and symptoms, to fetch shawls and to feed the cocka- 
too. After a call on grandmamma, the little boy would 
prance and caper like a colt in pasture, when he got 
into the open air again. 

Miss Lynch was a tall, gray woman, with cold eyes, 
and a measured way of speaking. She had a rigid back, 
and once, when, in the fulness of his affectionate spirit, 
the boy ventured upon giving her a hug, he was awed 
by the creaking of whalebone of which she seemed to 
be composed. At her waist she wore a bunch of clank- 
ing keys, and a silver wa^ch that Regi came to look 
upon as the controlling power of his life. At the bid- 
ding of that monitor he had to get up, to bathe, to 
dress, to eat his porridge, to study, to exercise, to go to 
bed. He sometimes wished that he might treat this 
tyrant of a watch as the March Hare served the Hatter's, 



4 REG PS OWN STORY. 

at Alice's Mad Tea Party — dipping it into a cup of hot 
tea, or putting the best butter into the works with a 
bread-knife ! 

Miss Lynch was never hot, or cold, or tired, or hun- 
gry, or glad, or sorry. Neither was she unkind to her 
pupil ; but he soon learned not to turn to her for sym- 
pathy or for the cheery companionship his nature 
craved. This he found, first of all, in his beloved Fred, 
then in the maid-servants and in a young footman 
recently employed about the house, or else in the boys 
met at dancing-school or gymnasium. Such intercourse 
was the more precious in its rarity. It was astonishing 
how this well-regulated little person managed to pick 
up the current phrases of boy lingo, their fashions and 
their fads, in spite of watchful Miss Lynch. It was now 
just a year since they had moved into the grand house 
— Regi vaguely understanding that his father's fortune 
had increased in the rapid American style. Their pres- 
ent abode was one of the handsomest of a showy neigh- 
borhood of brown-stone palaces. Its windows were 
kaleidoscopes of tinted glass, its walls were hung with 
embroidered stuffs or decked with traceries of gold and 
silver. The floors shone like mirrors, over which Regi 
was forever tumbling and skating on loose rugs and 
skins. His own bedroom, in strong contrast with his 
earlier nursery, resembled the interior of a cathedral, 
having a vaulted ceiling and high latticed windows, 
where he had to stand on tip-toe on a gothic bench to 
catch a glimpse of the neighbors' linen fluttering in the 
back yards below. He had acarved-oak dressing-table 
like a shrine, and a carved-oak bed like a pew, whence, 
at punctually seven o'clock a.m., Miss Lynch extracted 
him, to take a bracing shower-bath before beginning 
the round of duties prescribed for the day's observance. 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 5 

In the evening, when his father came in for a late din- 
ner, it was Regi's custom to await him on the rug be- 
fore the dining-room fire, and to sit with him while the 
soup was served. But Mr. Standish, always a reserved 
man, had become more than ever silent and abstracted. 
He would kiss Regi with a grave smile, inquire about 
his studies, exchange a few commonplace remarks with 
Miss Lynch, and then relapse into his own absorbing 
thoughts. 

Certainly the bright spot in Regi's life was Fred. 
Fred, big, strong and active, with his fearless speech 
and laugh, his quick wit, his boyish readiness for fun ! 
It seemed cruel that Fred should have to go to college, 
his little brother thought, lying awake sometimes at 
night to long for his hero's presence, until tears wet 
his pillow. You are not to think, however, that Regi 
was a moping boy or a dull one ; on the contrary, his 
was a merry little soul, ready at any minute to break 
into laughter, to conjure up a trick, and to respond 
to the faintest advance of good-fellowship from any 
one with whom he might be thrown momentarily in con- 
tact. At seven years old he was a manly fellow, in all 
things like those of you who rush into the house after 
school like a whirlwind, throwing books, overcoat, and 
cap six ways for Sunday, to bestow delightful rough 
kisses on your mother's hair and cheeks. But he had 
a soft side to him, had Regi ; and his large dark eyes 
could become tender and pleading, while his hand 
longed to steal into somebody's warm clasp, and his 
cheek craved to rest on some spot where it was wel- 
come. When in this mood, he was restless and often 
dreamy. A little congenial company would probably 
have driven out of him the spirit that prompted the 
lad to go off into a room by himself, and to sit and 



6 REGJ'S OWN STORY. 

wish for what he could not put into words. He had a 
fashion of wandering about the big house, and fancy- 
ing all kinds of queer things, that you might think 
foolish, if they were printed here. His favorite play 
was imaginary conversations between himself and cer- 
tain objects, about which he liked to wonder and to 
speculate. If Regi had lived in the country, there 
would have been voices enough to answer him, from 
the streams and leaves and birds and insects. But 
here he had to be content with making-up responses to 
his own questions. For one thing, he used to suppose 
himself to be living in the pictures on the walls. 
When he was tired of following the cows to pasture in 
the clear light of early morning in one painting, he 
had but to step over the frame into the next, to join a 
fierce tide of battle sweeping up some fortified height, 
and to snatch a victorious flag from the hands of a 
wounded comrade who had carried it over the rampart. 
The large drawing-room was Regi's favorite retiring 
place during the hours that he could call his own, partly 
because it was so generally deserted, but chiefly because 
there hung a lovely portrait of his mother, recently 
painted by a celebrated artist from a photograph taken 
in her girlish days. Following out a fancy of his own, 
the artist had robed the beautiful young woman in 
gleaming satin, edged at the throat and sleeves with 
fur ; and her fair neck looked like a swan's, Regi 
thought, admiring her with all the chivalry of his boy's 
nature. He used to wonder if this lovely vision could 
be made of the same flesh and blood as his grim gover- 
ness ; and a feeling of yearning sadness came into his 
heart when he realized that the fullest force of his vivid 
imaginings could not bring him a kiss from those lips, 
or a touch from that slender hand. 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 7 

In addition to pictures, the drawing-room was full of 
ornaments, and of curious and valuable objects, heaped 
upon brackets and tables, or shut behind glass in an-' 
tique cabinets. Regi's father, in some of his rare moments 
of expansion, had led the child from one spot to another, 
explaining the origin and history of his treasures, while 
promising that some day he, too, should visit the coun- 
tries from which they severally came. In this way the 
contents of the room had become to him familiar com- 
panions. Miss Lynch, treating them as geographical 
finger-posts, also encouraged her pupil's acquaintance 
with the various bits of bric-a-brac ; but, if possible, 
Regi contrived to make his visits to the drawing-room 
without his worthy governess. 

On the afternoon when Regi is first seen by you, all 
his faculties were alert and concentrated on the things 
of every day. Bran, tired of gazing through the win- 
dow, stalked round the room to select such a place as 
he might deem, in every respect, suitable and conven- 
ient for his dogship to take a nap in, and returned to 
stretch himself on the rug at his master's feet. But, 
though daylight was fast fading, Regi remained glued 
to his post. He was just beginning to invent a dia- 
logue, in which the street-lamp, with her fan of gas, 
should remonstrate against the lofty white globe of 
the electric light for presuming to make her look so 
yellow by contrast, when a party of street-boys, in thin 
jackets r and ragged comforters, arriving for a slide on 
the frozen gutter, distracted him. In the spirit of the 
little Louis Napoleon, who, at the palace window, 
begged leave to play in the lovely mud-puddle oppo- 
site, Regi ardently desired to join their sport. He 
laughed and clapped his hands in sympathy, until the 
boys scattered, and he became conscious of a frozen 



8 REG PS OWN STORY. 

tip to his nose. Then Regi turned round to arouse his 
sleeping Bran. 

" I don't believe he will ever come, old fellow ! " he 
said, in a disconsolate voice ; and at that moment a 
servant entered the room to light it, upon whom the 
little boy fastened eagerly. 

" Is that you, Tom ? " he said ; " I'm just about tired 
out, waiting for my brother." 

"Oh! don't you know, Master Regi," said the sym- 
pathetic youth, " there's been a telegram to Barnes to 
say we aren't to expect Mr. Fred to dinner, anyhow, as 
he may not come till late." 

What a disappointment ! Regi's heart swelled ; and 
he longed to cry outright, but desisted manfully in the 
presence of the footman, who lingered for awhile, try- 
ing to make matters livelier, going out at last, rather 
discomfited at his unwonted failure to entertain. 

Then Regi curled up on a sofa, and cried heartily. 
To do without Fred for several hours longer, perhaps 
until to-morrow, seemed a thing impossible. 

Early that morning, in answer to a dispatch telling 
her of serious illness in her sister's family, Miss Lynch 
had set off on a journey to a distant town. It was the 
first time since she had lived under the Standish 
roof that such a thing as absence from her post had 
happened. Regi tried his best to feel sorry ; but, do 
what he would, little ripples of exultant laughter 
rose to his lips at thought of his unwonted freedom. 
And Fred was coming too ! It was altogether a dis- 
tracting combination. What projects for Christmas 
fun were teeming in his brain ! How he would coax 
Fred to ask that he might sit up to dinner every night, 
to listen, flushed and wide-eyed, to the story of his 
brother's college experiences ! He would have another 



REGI'S OWN STORY. g 

expedition to buy Christmas gifts, like the memorable 
one of the year before, when, after an exciting ride 
down town on the elevated railway, the brothers had 
walked hand in hand along a great thoroughfare. 
Regi remembered every incident of that agreeable 
afternoon. There, toward Christmas time, a hundred 
venders on the curbstone blocked the way, and in the 
clear, cold afternoon, all was merriment. The little 
boy in his long brown overcoat and cap edged with 
otter fur, clinging to his brother's hand, trudging along 
and enjoying himself till his cheeks bloomed like 
winter roses, had won many a friendly glance from 
passers-by. Regi's store of pocket-money had been 
spent at last, and his arms and pockets were crowded 
with all sorts of curious odds and ends, selected by 
himself as gifts to the household at home. Suddenly, 
he had stopped short, begging Fred to go ahead a 
little way. Fred complied, while Regi felt in all his 
pockets, with an expression of dismay. 

" Oh ! dear ! " he had said to himself. " If I haven't 
gone and forgotten Fred ; and I have but one single 
penny left. I can't borrow from him, to buy his own 
Christmas gift. I wish I hadn't spent seventy-five cents 
on that jumping mouse for the cook's husband. What 
will one penny buy ? " 

At this point, his eye had lit upon a stall for the 
sale of cheap stationery, and, recalling the fact that 
Fred had complained of finding no blotter on his bed- 
room writing table, Regi triumphantly purchased a 
small piece of pink blotting-paper, of which, care- 
fully wrapped up, he had made the greatest mys- 
tery for the rest of the expedition. When they re- 
gained Broadway, Fred had called a cab — a hansom, 
to Regi's satisfaction — and getting in, with all their 



io REGPS OWN STORY. 

parcels about them, ordered the man to drive to Del- 
monico's. 

" Where are we going now, Fred ? " Regi had asked, 
beginning to feel his fatigue. 

Fred had laughed, but would not answer. Soon 
they drew up in front of a brilliantly lighted establish- 
ment, where, received by bowing functionaries, they 
were ushered into a large room filled with groups at 
little tables. With a lazy gesture, Fred had pushed a 
bill of fare at Regi, requesting him to choose his own 
dinner, as, for this once, the little boy was to be al- 
lowed to forego the bread-and-milk and jam of his daily 
evening diet. Poor Regi had floundered about among 
the French dishes in despair, till Fred, coming to his 
aid, ordered consommS and chops and sundry unac- 
customed dainties in the way of sweets, that his youth- 
ful guest still thought of longingly. 

Ah ! what delightful memories. 

Regi recalled too the scene outside, when they came 
away from dinner at the restaurant on that occasion. 
Opposite them was the great square, transformed into 
a sheet of ice, the trees crystallized into a shining net- 
work and illuminated from above by a palpitating 
crown of electric stars. On the far, quiet side of the 
square, a church-spire rose into the deep blue sky, 
where a planet could be seen twinkling. A marked 
contrast were the western and southern sides, where 
the facade of hotels and the shops were ablaze with 
garish lights and Christmas greenery. In the shop win- 
dows, jets of gas in fanciful devices revealed marvels 
of confectionery, of books, pictures, hats, umbrellas, 
jewels, porcelain — everything to tempt depleted pocket- 
books. The weather was then, as now, bitterly cold. 
Horses and foot-passengers were sliding perilously 



REGI'S OWN STORY. II 

over glassy streets, but the sidewalks were black with 
a steady swarm of sight-seers, buyers, or tardy work- 
ing folk ; and every one was good-humored, including 
the policemen who, " frosty but kindly," tramped their 
rounds. 

It was a wonderful solace to the disappointed child 
to lie in a corner of the couch this evening, picturing to 
himself such simple pleasures as had their root in the 
coveted companionship of one so dearly loved. He 
stopped crying, by and by ; and through the sparkle of 
his tears, seemed to see a smile hovering over the lips 
of his mother's portrait looking down upon him. 

" I'm afraid I mayn't sit up for Fred," he mused, 
*' Oh ! I wish it were to-morrow morning, for I could 
go into his room and see him brush his hair and put 
his scarf on, and there wouldn't be all night between ! " 

They came to summon him to tea ; and his father, 
coming in after awhile, and seeing that he had been 
crying, kissed him more tenderly than usual and sent 
him off to bed with the assurance that Fred would be 
there to receive his morning greeting. Rosa, the 
chambermaid, was in waiting to see the little man to 
bed, and while disdaining her help except for some im- 
possible buttons " away round at the back," his tongue 
wagged incessantly. He confided to her his woes and 
fears for the holidays. 

11 Oh ! Rosa, do you think there's any chance her 
sister's husband might keep ill — rather ill, you know ? 
Is flammingtery rheumatism very bad ? " 

"Well, its meself too that wouldn't be grievin', if his 
attack was to be kind of tejus, Master Reginald," said 
plain-spoken Rosa. "Whin the cat's away the mice 
will play, and a little play won't hurt none of us these 
holiday times." 



12 REG PS OWN STORY. 

" Oh ! but Rosa, she can't get back by to-morrow ; and 
to-morrow maybe Fred will take me to see the shops 
and to buy Christmas things, again, Rosa! Do you 
know she's never let me hang up my stocking since I 
was a little boy — never since she came ? She says it is 
wicked to tell children about Santa Claus, and that 
there isn't such a thing ; and she just hates fairy-tales, 
too. I wonder if she knows everything, Rosa." 

11 She knows all she knows herself, and all that any- 
body else knows, too," said the irreverent Rosa, tucking 
the little boy into bed with her stout arms. 

" Because, Rosa .... don't you tell anybody, 
but I can't help believing in Santa Claus . . a little 
. . . just a little, you know. Fellows at dancing- 
school tell me such dandy things he brings 'em. It isn't 
the toys I want, because I get lots. But it's the stock- 
ing, Rosa. My old Chickabiddy used to give me such 
a long one to hang up, and it was always cram-full, and 
had a real peppermint cane sticking out of the top of it. 
It was so nice, waking up in the dark, and feeling for 
the funny stiff toe dangling there by your bed. Chick- 
abiddy told i«e she, herself, saw Santa Claus stuffing 
the things in ; and I do love Chickabiddy." 

" No more than she loves you, me poor darling" said 
Rosa, touched by a quaver in his voice. " What would 
you say if I told you Mistress Flanagan was married 
again, and gone to housekeepin* — which he's a plumber's 
man, and well-to-do — an' his first died of internal chills, 
and was buried beautiful, last Sunday was a twelve- 
month since, and they livin' so comfortable and gintale 
in a flat with three boorders — and a turn-up bedstead 
in the parler for their two selves ! Six foot two, an' 
never drinks a dhrop — an' one of their boorders is me 
mother's coosin's nephew — and Mrs. Flanagan that 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 13 

was, Ryan that is, was asking him to enquire about 
you with tears in her eyes — me last Sunday out it was, 
he met me at me coosin's - M 

11 I've a great mind to ask Fred to take me to see 
Chickabiddy ! " exclaimed Regi, sitting up in bed, 
possessed with a bold idea. 

This and other exciting thoughts so overmastered him 
that, when Rosa had put out the candle and with- 
drawn to sit in the sewing- room near by, Regi could not 
rest. He tossed and plotted, and plotted and tossed. 
Twice did Rosa return to tuck him in before, at last, his 
even breathing announced him to be asleep. An hour 
later she heard him cry out, and went to him. Regi was 
sitting up in bed with outstretched arms, asking re- 
peatedly for "Fred," "Fred." His ear, quicker than 
hers, had caught the sound of an arrival below stairs. 
Nothing would do but that Rosa should go forthwith 
to summon the traveller to his side ; and down went the 
maid, with the request that Mr. Fred would " spake to 
Master Reginald," who was "afther bein' restless, and 
wouldn't be pacified at all, at all." 

Up-stairs with quick strides came a pair of long legs, 
and across the floor to Regi's little bed. Bending 
down in the dark, Fred felt two warm arms close tight 
around his neck, and a fervent kiss print itself on his 
mouth. 

" It's all right now, Fred," said a voice in something 
like a sob. 

Regi's Christmas bid fair to be a merry one. Not 
only did Miss Lynch telegraph that she should prob- 
ably remain away for at least a fortnight, but his big 
brother, touched as well as flattered by his junior's 
loyalty, did his best to carry out the little schemer's 



i 4 REGI'S OWN STORY. 

plans. Regi's simple pleasures were so readily accom- 
plished that he began to feel as if it were all too pleas- 
ant to be real. And, at last, on Christmas Eve, the 
curious thing happened in Regi's house which affords 
the occasion for this book. I wish it might happen to 
more children than one ; and I hope that, before you 
have finished reading of what then befell Regi, you will 
agree with me. 

It was just before midnight, when little hoofs were beat- 
ing and little sleigh-bells were tinkling over other chil- 
dren's roofs, when Santa Claus, puffing and wheezing, 
was scrambling down other children's chimneys, that 
Regi thought he heard somebody speak his name. 
There he was, lying in his own bed, his eyes shut, his 
curly chestnut head and rose-leaf cheek pressed close 
against the pillow, his thoughts floating off into the 
silver mists of dreamland ! How could it be, then, that 
he found himself again in the corner of the drawing- 
room sofa, crying over Fred's delay ? And what voice 
was this, coming to him out of the shadows of the de- 
serted room. It had a faint, far-away sound, such as 
follows a hand dropped upon the key-board of an old 
piano, long unused. After it, arose a medley of curious 
noises — the twang of ancient harp-strings, the clink of 
finest porcelain, the clatter of coarse pottery, the ring 
of metals, the rustle of costly stuffs. Gradually these 
sounds took articulate shape and were uttered in speech. 

" Tell him stories ! Hum ! " was spoken from the 
wall. "The child needs cheering, there's no doubt 
about it. Not a bad idea that of your's, Mr. Kettle." 

"Some people take pleasure in miscalling names," 
was the answer from a table. " I would have you to 
know that I am of a Russian family, and that plain Ket- 
tle won't do for me, Mistress Dish." 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 15 

"Plaque, if you please, plaque, my dear Monsieur 
Samovar." 

"Ciel! how these plebeians quarrel over trifles," 
was borne to the listener on what seemed the perfumed 
breeze stirred by the flutter of a fan. 

"Won't you chatterers keep the peace?" cut in a 
sharp, clear voice like a Spanish sword-blade. " Me- 
thinks it is a disposition natural to woman to waste time 
by the way." 

Upon this, all the speakers chimed in at once, and a 
mighty hub-bub followed. 

" Let me be heard," said a quiet voice, a little tinged 
with malice. " So long as all talk at once, we shall 
come to no conclusion. Suppose we leave it to the 
ladies to begin, and let the oldest one among them speak 
first." 

Dead silence. 

Regi began to understand that the disputants were 
no other than the various objects of ornament and cu- 
riosity disposed about the room, with which he had so 
often imagined himself in converse. And now, here 
they were, actually talking among themselves briskly, 
and in a tongue that he could understand ! 

" By the holy beard of the Prophet ! " said a voice 
that came in tranquil puffs, like smoke from the bowl 
of a pipe, " there is nothing easier than for each of us 
to relate in turn some interesting experience of his past 
life. Such a diversion will of a surety smoothe away 
wrinkles from the brow of care, and inspire the heart of 
youth to thoughts of cheerfulness." 

u Cuckoo ! Let me tell a story ! " interrupted a lively 
speaker. 

"That's certainly our old clock," said Regi, to him- 
self. " But it's all very queer. I wonder how I can be 



16 REG PS OWN STORY. 

in two places at once. I didn't feel myself getting out 
of bed to come down here into the drawing-room, and 
yet here I am. If I were to call out suddenly, what 
would they do ? I want to shout, dreadfully, but I 
want to listen, too. If they are going to tell me stories, 
it's very good of them. Hallo, there's another speaking." 

"Seeing that we have but from now till Twelfth 
Night in which to parley," interposed a hearty voice 
coming from a settle of old English oak by the fireplace, 
" my counsel is like that of our Arab friend here, that 
each in turn conjure up some right merry tale of long 
ago for the younker's entertainment. I've not forgot 
the days when I was young, ho ! ho ! Beshrew me if I 
have ! " 

" Tis agreed that the hour be that of twilight, " came 
in a sentimental whisper from the harp. And while Regi 
was wondering what a younker is, and whether he was 
really the object of their conference, the discussion 
began over again, till his brain whirled in trying to 
keep pace with the busy talkers. Then it seemed to 
him that he saw a smile on the face of his mother's pic- 
ture. And next, Regi was drifting away from the cor- 
ner of the drawing-room sofa, back into his familiar 
little bed. Opening his eyes for a moment, he saw the 
circle of light from the shaded night-lamp dance upon 
the ceiling overhead. 

" Then it was nothing but a dream," he thought, 
drowsily ; " oh ! how I w T ish it would come true," and 
with that, rolling over again, he was soon sound asleep. 

And now, in a neighboring tower, the joy-bells rang 
out midnight. Christmas had come. Other bells caught 
up the echo of the first, and a merry song they chanted 
over the sleeping and the watching, to whom it bore 
the burden of love, peace and good-will. 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

On Christmas Day it was, after a sleigh-ride in the 
Park, that Regi, left by his father and Fred to his own 
devices, came into the drawing-room to lie on the wolf- 
skin in front of the big brass fire-dogs on the hearth, 
where a couple of logs were burning away contentedly 
without making any superfluous effort to break into a 
blaze. 

Except for the glow of this tranquil fire, there was 
little light in the heavily curtained room, and Regi 
lay, turning over in his mind a number of pleasant 
things that had happened to him during the day, de- 
ciding finally that the next best thing to a swift dash 
over the snow behind papa's roans, was to come in- 
doors without finding Lynchy in waiting with a lec- 
ture. 

Happening to turn his lazy eyes in the direction of 
a claw-footed mahogany corner-table, he was struck 
with the unusual appearance of animation i» a Samo- 
var, or Russian tea-urn, standing there upon a tray. He 
heard a bubbling sound within its brass-bound sides. 
Directly afterward, in a puffing sort of way, like a fat 
person rather out of breath, the Samovar spoke to 
him : 

" I am happy, my dear young friend, to have been 
selected by my honorable companions in your father's 
respectable collection, as the pe-rson whose place 
2 



18 THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

in the community entitles him to first address you. 
For reasons unnecessary to explain, quite a number 
of us — all pieces of reputable bric-a-brac — have en- 
tered into an agreement to contribute to the enter- 
tainment of your Christmas holidays by narrating, in 
turn, at any hour of the day when you choose to enter 
here, alone, a story illustrating the manners, customs 
and traditions of our respective native lands." 

" Goodness ! " interrupted Regi. " It's splendid, you 
know, and I'm awfully obliged to you ; but how you do 
puff and jerk your words out ! I never heard anything 
like it — but perhaps that's a Russian custom ? " 

" Not at all ! " returned the Samovar, a little thrown 
off his guard ; " I was only getting up my steam." 

" And so you are to tell the first ? " went on Regi in 
a puzzled way, as if trying to tax his memory. " Surely 
I heard something about this, or else I may have 
dreamed it. It seems so natural ; and yet it can't be 
that, you know. To tell you the truth, I'm glad of a 
chance to talk with some of you. Often, when I've 
been fooling around here in the afternoon, thinking 
about the long way you came to belong to us, and all, 
I've tried to make up things for you to say ; but I 
wouldn't like the fellows at the gymnasium to hear it, 
because they'd call me 'girl baby,' and names like that. 
Well, old kettle, if you're to begin, there's no use 
waiting, so please steam ahead ! " 

" I must insist upon less familiarity ! " said the Samo- 
var, with a sniff of rising resentment. But one look 
at the little boy's expectant countenance, as he sat 
with clasped hands, leaning slightly forward, his soft, 
brown eyes fixed eagerly upon him, was sufficient to 
calm the speaker down into a gentle bubble of steady 
narrative. 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 19 

" During the long winter months in Russia, my na- 
tive country," said the Samovar, " our peasant folk live 
mostly within doors. There's not much temptation to 
go out when a perpetual snow lies upon ground as hard 
as iron, and the cold is so bitter you have to keep 
counting your ears and nose all the time to see if they 
are there ! In the house where I lived there were a 
man, his wife, eight children and a grandfather ; and 
although it was a tight fit in the matter of accommoda- 
tion, those people enjoyed life after their own fashion. 
The common living-room was a dull place, with a huge 
stove in one corner, built of brick and whitewashed. 
On top of this stove was a broad shelf, forming the 
children's bed at night, where they were packed in and 
covered with sheep-skins. But I can remember some 
pleasant times those children had. Occasionally of an 
evening they would hold a Besyedy, a class for prac- 
tising the useful arts. 

"All their little neighbors were invited to be present ; 
and, after the family meal of cabbage-soup and buck- 
wheat porridge was consumed, the dishes washed and 
put away, the woman and her girls made haste to scrub 
the floors, tables and benches, till they were quite 
clean." 

" How clean ? " asked Regi, doubtfully. 

" Well, there are many degrees of cleanliness," said 
the Samovar, tartly, " but I should say cleaner than 
your finger-nails are in general. Now, once for all, 
don't ask questions, or I shall certainly boil over with 
indignation. 

" The next household act was to light a torch, in ad- 
dition to the usual dim lamp that always burns before 
the image of the Virgin. Then all was in readiness ; 
and about sunset the visitors came trooping in, hooded 



20 THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

and cowled, and clad in funny sheep-skin garments. 
Fresh wood was thrust into the gaping mouth of the 
stove, while an old woman, who acted as mistress of 
ceremonies, formed the children into a ring, giving each 
a task. Thus the girls learned to spin flax by the aid 
of quaint old-fashioned 'jennies,' and the boys plaited 
house-shoes of bark, stripped from the trees and dried 
in the summer sun. While work was fairly under way, 
songs were sung, and busy tongues kept time to busy 
fingers. The old woman who taught the class would 
trot around among the children, keeping order ; and, if 
they worked well, and provided she had no toothache, 
she would often tell them stories. Such stories as I 
have heard in that dear old smoke-stained hut ! Noth- 
ing anybody tells you can compare with them ! What 
would you say to witches and seven-headed snakes, 
horses with twelve wings and coats of silver, a king's 
daughter shut up in a garden hedged by seven fences 
made of bayonets, swan maidens, and princes who could 
leap glass mountains at a single bound ? Ah ! I can see 
your eyes sparkle, and no wonder. If I undertook to 
tell you all the tales I've heard at those Besyedys, my 
steam would give out before I got half way. There, I 
know you are dying to ask me a question ; and, to re- 
ward you for your self-control, I'll guess it. You want 
to hear one of my Russian stories ; a genuine folk-tale 
such as the peasant children love. Puff ! Puff ! Let me 
see. I think I can remember about the Prince, the 
Merman and Vasilissa the Wise. Ah ! I thought that 
would suit you, and here it is." 



Once upon a time there lived a king and queen, 
and the king was very fond of hunting and shooting. 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 21 

Well, one day he went out hunting and saw an eaglet 
sitting on an oak. Just as he was going to shoot it, 
the eaglet began to coax him. 

" Please don't shoot me, king. Take me home, and 
see if some day I'm not of use to you." 

The king thought about it, but he couldn't see what 
use an eaglet could ever be to a king. So again he 
took aim at the bird. 

" Please don't shoot me, king. Take me home, and 
see if some day I'm not of use to you." 

The king thought again, but he couldn't make up 
his mind what use an eaglet could ever be to a king. 
A third time he took aim. 

" Please don't shoot me, king. Take me home, and 
see if some day I'm not of use to you." 

The king's heart softened, and he took the bird home 
and fed it. Soon it grew strong and ate so much that 
every day it had to be supplied with a whole sheep or a 
cow. In two years the king had neither flocks nor cattle 
left. At last the eaglet cried, " Now set me free, good 
master, that I may try my wings." 

The king set it free, and it tried to fly ; but no, the 
wings flapped heavily down. 

" Alas ! king," cried the eaglet, with a sigh, " I've 
not had enough to eat yet. Feed me for another year, 
and you'll lose nothing by your kindness." 

The king was puzzled, but he set to work borrowing 
sheep and cows from his neighbors, and so fed the 
eaglet for another year. At the end of that time he 
again set it free. Hurrah ! this time the eagle soared 
proudly in the air ; and then, coming back, invited the 
king to take a ride upon his back. The king accepted 
his invitation, and in a moment they were high above 
the clouds, speeding past the region of the stars into a 



22 THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

land where lived the eagle's family. They visited the 
eagle's mother and his sisters, who received the king 
politely, thanking him for his kindness to their boy. 

" Now, my king," said the eagle, in a friendly way, 
"stay a while with me, and afterward I'll give you a 
ship, and some other presents to repay you for all I ate 
at your house ; then — God speed you home again." 

When the time came, the eagle flew down with the 
king to the seashore ; and there they found a fine large 
ship. On the deck were two chests ; one red, the 
other green. 

"Mind, king," said the eagle, in bidding his guest 
good-by, "you must on no account open the coffers 
till you get home. Then open the red chest in your 
field, the green chest in your garden." 

The king sailed away over the blue sea till he came 
to a pleasant island, where he took the red chest 
ashore, and began wondering what was in it. 

" What difference can it make ? I'll just have a peep," 
he said ; but no sooner had he lifted the lid, than out 
poked a cold wet nose, followed by a pair of horns. 
Then another and another, till there escaped from the 
chest such a great number of different kinds of cattle, 
the island was half full of them in a minute. This 
made the king feel very sorrowful, for he knew there 
was no chance of his getting this vast multitude again 
into so small a space. As he sat there lamenting, there 
came up out of the sea a Merman, who asked him what 
the trouble was. The king explained, and the Merman 
promised to help him, on condition that the king should 
give him whatever he had at home that he knew noth- 
ing about. 

"Whatever I have at home that I know nothing 
about," repeated the king. "That seems easy enough, 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 23 

for I fancy I know pretty much all that's there. All 
right old man. It's a bargain, so set to work." 

The Merman blew a shell whistle, and in ten minutes 
all the cattle had come running up and been stowed 
within the red chest again. 

The king made haste to get his chest aboard ship, 
and to sail away. When he reached home, what was his 
joy to hear that during his absence the queen had had 
a most beautiful little boy. But then the poor king re- 
membered his promise to the Merman, and turned pale. 
Tears rushed from his eyes when he kissed his baby. 
To seek distraction from these thoughts, he took his 
red coffer out into the fields, and, opening it, set free 
the splendid herd of cattle, which immediately went to 
grazing peacefully upon his tall grasses. Carrying the 
green chest into the garden, he next opened that, when, 
behold ! there were trees, and plants, and flowers of mar- 
vellous beauty such as he had never seen, which, flying 
from the chest, took root in his soil, making it the most 
glorious garden in the world. The king forgot his 
fatal promise, and thought only of enjoying his happy 
home. Years passed, and one day he was crossing a 
river when out popped the angry old Merman. 

"A pretty king you are, not to keep a promise. 
Bring me my prize before a day is past." 

The poor king went home full of misery, to tell 
his queen the bad news. They decided that the prince 
must go ; so they took him to the river bank, and left 
him. While the poor prince stood waiting for his new 
master to come and fetch him, up came a Baba Yaga, a 
regular witch of the woods. 

" Pray, granny, help me a bit in my trouble," said 
the prince, pleasantly. 

She knew all about it without waiting to be told — a 



24 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 



faculty which certainly saves a great deal of wasted 
breath in this world ; and she said : " Well, I like your 
looks, and I'll help you ; wait here till sunset, and you 
will see twelve swans fly down, take off their plumage, 
and go into the water to bathe. Do you steal quietly 
up and lay hands upon the largest swan's plumage. It 
belongs to the Merman's daughter, and when once you 
have got it, she will have to promise you what you ask, 
to get it back again." 

The prince obeyed, and hid behind the bushes. 
Soon all happened as the Baba Yaga said. The swans, 
diving into the water, turned into twelve lovely maidens. 
When they had done bathing, they came out swans 
again, and each put on her rightful plumage ; but the 
eldest one sought in vain for hers. Who should she be 
but Vasilissa the Wise, the Merman's eldest daughter. 
Then the prince spoke to her from behind the bushes. 

" I hold your plumage, fair Swan-lady," he said. 
"What will you give me if I return it to you ?" 

" I'll help you more than you can imagine," she re- 
plied. " I know they are expecting you at my father's 
house, and will make a slave of you. But never mind. 
Give me my plumage, and I will lend you my best three 
servants to attend you." 

So the prince gave her the plumage, and at once she 
put on her swan's coat and flew away. Out of the wood 
came three odd-looking fellows, who addressed him as 
their master. The prince asked their names, and 
learned that they were called " The Mighty Eater," 
" The Mighty Drinker," and " Freeze-em-out," respec- 
tively. 

" You must be rather an expensive lot to keep," he 
said ; " however, hurry up now, and take me to the 
Merman's palace." 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 25 

When they reached the palace the Merman was 
growling furiously. 

" You've taken your time to come to me," he said. 
" Here, set to work at once. Your first task is to build 
me, in one night, a great crystal bridge, that the whole 
court may pass over on the morrow. If you don't 
build it — why — off goes your head — that's all ! " 

The prince went out into the garden and burst into 
tears. Vasilissa the Wise, combing her golden locks 
at an upper chamber window of the palace, saw him 
and cried out, " What ails you, prince ? Tell me your 
trouble." 

" Ah, Vasilissa," said the prince, " your father means 
to murder me, it is clear. How can I ever build, in a 
single night, a crystal bridge over which the whole 
court may pass upon the morrow ? " 

"Bah! is that all?" said Vasilissa the Wise. "Lie 
down and sleep on it. Remember the morning is 
wiser than the evening ! " 

The prince obeyed her, and at midnight out rushed 
Vasilissa from her chamber, and stood on the river 
bank. She uttered a mighty whistling cry ; from all 
sides there came running artists and workmen fetch- 
ing tools and bricks of glass. In the twinkling of an 
eye arose a beautiful crystal arch, graven with strange 
devices ; and the workers went away as fast as they 
had come. 

Early next morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the 
prince. "Get up, prince. The bridge is ready, and 
my father will soon be coming to inspect it." 

Up jumped the prince, full of joy, and, taking a 
broom in his hand, pretended to be sweeping the 
bridge as if he had just finished it. 

Soon came along the angry Merman. 



2 6 THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

" What's this !" he said, in surprise. " Well, you are 
good for more than I thought, assuredly. Now for 
your second task. Plant me by to-morrow a garden 
green — a big and shady one. There must be birds 
singing in the branches, rare flowers blossoming in the 
borders, and from every bough must hang ripe luscious 
fruit." 

Again the prince went off to Vasilissa, telling her his 
woes. 

"Pooh! That's nothing. Lie down and sleep. 
Don't you know the morning is wiser than the even- 
ing ?" said she. 

The prince lay down and slept. At midnight, Vasilissa 
the Wise rushed out from her chamber and stood on the 
river bank. She uttered a mighty whistling cry, and 
from all parts there ran gardeners and laborers, who 
carried plants and seeds and blooming flowers. In the 
twinkling of an eye they had made a beautiful garden, 
where birds of gay plumage sang upon the branches, 
brilliant flowers sprung up in the borders, and luscious 
fruits hung upon every bough. 

Early in the morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the 
prince. " Get up, prince. The garden is ready. My 
father is coming out to inspect it." 

The prince ran into the garden, and, picking up a 
broom, swept the paths neatly. 

Soon came along the astonished Merman. 

" Better and better ! " cried he. " Here, my good 
youth, you have done me right good service and 
deserve a rich reward. Go, choose yourself a bride 
among my twelve daughters. They are all exactly alike 
in face, in hair and in dress. If you can pick out the 
same one three times running, she shall be your wife ; 
if you fail, off goes your head ! " 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 27 

"Never mind," whispered Vasilissa the Wise ; "if I 
be the one you would choose, the first time I shall wave 
my handkerchief, the second time I shall be arranging 
my dress, the third time you will see a fly above my 
forehead." 

Thus it was that the prince contrived to guess Vasi- 
lissa the Wise three times running. There was nothing 
for the old Merman but to submit, so the wedding came 
off in fine style. The feast prepared for the young 
couple was more than a hundred men could eat. 

" I wish you a good appetite, son-in-law," said the 
Merman, with a malicious grin. " Eat all you want, 
but if anything remains over, off goes your head ! " 
And with that he departed, leaving them alone. 

" Call for the Mighty Eater," whispered the bride to 
her husband. In came the prince's servant, and, when 
they ordered him to help himself, the victuals vanished 
like smoke. When the dishes were empty, the Mighty 
Eater looked anxiously about for more, as he went 
away. 

Returning presently, the Merman set out about 
forty tubs of strong drinks of every kind, ordering his 
son-in-law to drain every one of them dry, on pain of 
losing his head. And with that he departed again, leav- 
ing them alone. 

" Call now for the Mighty Drinker," whispered Vasi- 
lissa the Wise. In came the Mighty Drinker, and, in a 
flash, every tub was emptied to the dregs. But when 
the Merman came back again and found this out, he fell 
into a spiteful rage. 

" My son-in-law must need a hot bath," he said to his 
servants. " Heat the bath-room, until it is red-hot ; do 
you hear ? " 

And the iron bath-room was made so hot that you 



28 THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

could not come within ten feet of it. Twelve loads of 
firewood were poked into the stove. 

" Call for Freeze-em-out, and send him into the bath- 
room first," whispered Vasilissa the Wise to her hus- 
band. 

This was done ; and, when Freeze-em-out had opened 
his mouth and blown a single blast into that burning 
heat, in a moment the air became bitterly cold, and 
icicles were hanging on the bath-room stove, while you 
might have skated on the floor, which was a shining 
sheet of ice. 

By this time Vasilissa the Wise made up her mind 
that it was best to take her young husband away, out of 
her wicked father's power. So the two saddled their 
horses and galloped off into the open plain. They rode 
and rode, and many an hour went by. 

"Jump down, dear prince, and lay your ear to the 
ground," said Vasilissa ; " and tell me if you hear any 
one pursuing us ? " 

The prince did as he was bid, but he could hear noth- 
ing. Then Vasilissa herself got down from her good 
steed, and laid her ear to the ground. 

"Ah ! I hear them," she cried ; "a great multitude 
is after us." 

So, quick as thought, she changed the two horses 
into a well, herself into the well-bucket, and the prince 
into a very old man leaning on a staff. 

Up came the pursuers. " Halloo, old man ! " cried 
they, " have you seen a youth and a maiden pass by 
here on horseback ? " 

" I think I did see somebody like that, a long time 
ago," the old man said ; " but I was a young man then." 

So the pursuers turned back, and reported to the 
Merman that they had seen nobody but an old man, 



THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 29 

leaning on his staff, beside a well with a bucket floating 
in the water. 

" Why didn't you seize him, you fools ? " cried the 
Merman ; and, forthwith putting the pursuers to a cruel 
death, he sent another troop in search of the prince and 
Vasilissa the Wise. 

Meantime the fugitives had ridden far, far away." 
Vasilissa heard the noise made by the new set of* pur- 
suers ; so she turned the horses into two trees, herself 
into an old moss-grown church, and the prince into an 
old priest standing in front of it. 

Up came the pursuers. " Halloo, old man ! Have 
you seen a youth and a maiden riding by this way ? " 

" I think I did see such a couple once," said the old 
man ; " but it was long, long ago, when we were build- 
ing this very church." 

Back rode the second set of pursuers to the Merman, 
saying : " There is neither trace nor news of them, 
your Royal Majesty. All we saw was an old church 
between two trees, and an ancient priest standing in 
front of it." 

" Why didn't you seize him, rascals ? " cried the furi- 
ous Merman. Then these poor wretches, too, were put 
to death ; and the Merman himself galloped off in pur- 
suit. 

Vasilissa heard him coming, and quickly changed 
the horses into a river of honey with banks of amber 
jelly, the prince into a snow-white drake, and herself 
into a silver-gray duck. When the Merman got to the 
river he began tasting it greedily, and then he ate 
some of the bank ; and so he ate and ate until he burst 
and died. 

When Vasilissa saw that her father was really dead, 
she cried ; but the prince wiped her eyes, and told her 



3 o THE SAMOVAR'S STORY. 

that he would always love her tenderly. So they gal- 
loped off again, and rod« straight to the palace of the 
king and queen, who were still bitterly lamenting the 
supposed loss of their darling son and heir. 

The prince presented to them Vasilissa the Wise, and 
great was their joy to find that their son was alive and 
well, and had won for himself a beautiful and clever 
bride. 

Vasilissa and the prince went on a wedding journey 
to visit the friendly eagle, who made them many splen- 
did presents, and, after they reached home again, came 
every year to see them. 



" That was dandy ! " cried Regi, eagerly ; "especially 
the jelly, and the ducks ! I hope those funny servants, 
Freeze-em-out and the rest, came to live with Vasilissa 
and the prince. Say, old Kettle ; did they ? " 

But the Samovar had ceased to simmer, and answered 
him not a word 

" I don't think anybody would believe this, if I told 
it," reflected Regi. " Not even Fred or Rosa Chick- 
abiddy might, but I'm not likely to see her soon. One 
thing is certain, I'm coming in here every chance I get, 
to listen if anything else speaks to me." 



THE STORY OF THE THREE SIL- 
VER FEATHERS. 

In a velvet box on the cabinet-shelf, was a quaint 
silver brooch formed in the shape of three feathers, set 
with transparent stones of the color of sherry wine, and 
inscribed below with the words " Ich Dien," which 
Regi's papa had told him is the motto of the Prince 
of Wales, meaning " I serve." 

11 1 don't know much about Wales," Regi said to him- 
self, while fingering this brooch, in his boy's fashion, 
the next afternoon. " On my map it's only a queer lit- 
tle purple country sticking on to England's back ; and 
it has two rabbit's ears — a Welsh rabbit's, I suppose ! 
I wonder if it would be worth while to ask you to tell 
me my story for to-day." 

" Your ignorance protects you, little boy," answered 
the silver brooch, calmly. " I am too old and digni- 
fied to take offence at trifles. I prefer to enjoy the 
quiet of the afternoon of life. So it will suffice to 
answer you, that my dear little picturesque country is 
the very cradle of romantic legend in Europe. Fairy 
tales, especially, are the small coin of our current 
speech." 

" What's that ? " said Regi, sharply. 

" Perhaps I am talking of my day," went on the 
brooch, not deigning to explain herself. "And that 



3 2 THE THREE SILVER ERA TITERS. 

was some time since. As the poet Dryden has beauti- 
fully observed — 

' I speak of ancient times, for now the swain 
Returning late may pass the woods in vain, 
And never hope to see the nightly train.' " 

"What is the nightly train ?" Regi interrupted, dimly 
following. " Fairies, do you mean ? Oh ! if there's 
anything I love, it's a real fairy tale. But, if you won't 
think me very impolite, I can't understand the very 
longest words, only the middling long words. And I 
am sure Wales is a very interesting country." 

" I shall try to adapt myself to your comprehension," 
said the pacified brooch. "For my own part, I was 
born and bred in a town ; but the lady who owned me 
first, used to go in summer time to the quiet country 
nooks where tradition likes to linger. My mistress 
was passionately fond of collecting the local stories, 
wherever she might be ; and so it was I picked up 
many a delightful tale of ancient times in Wales. The 
one I shall tell you, you may call ' Taffy and the Little 
Folk in Green.' " 



Not far from Cardigan, in Wales, stands a mountain, 
called Frennifawr ; and in that neighborhood once 
lived an honest shoemaker who had an only son named 
Taffy. Do what he might, the shoemaker could not 
induce Taffy to follow his father's trade. The lad 
would sit down on the bench, awl in hand, and begin 
to cobble, when suddenly his eyes would be diverted 
from his work by a butterfly flying in at the open door 
of the cottage, or would spy out the birds in the 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 33 

boughs of an old tree that sheltered their home, or re- 
main fascinated by the passing of the clouds upon the 
distant mountain top. His father's angry voice, rous- 
ing Taffy from his reverie, filled him with a sense of 
shame, and he would set to work again diligently, to 
be distracted as before by the first object in nature 
that chanced to catch his wandering attention. The 
shoemaker was a testy fellow, having little patience 
with what he called the moonstruck gentry who ex- 
pected other people to provide their bread and cheese, 
while they twirled thumbs for a living. He attributed 
his son's idleness to a school-teacher who had spent a 
summer or two among their hills, engaging Taffy to 
be his guide about the neighborhood, and teaching the 
lad no end of nonsense about chipping off bits of rocks, 
tearing to pieces flowers and plants, collecting birds' 
eggs, fungi, and the like. How was such stuff as that 
to put pence into a man's pocket ? the cobbler would 
like to know. So Taffy got many a hard word and 
many a beating ; but still he sat on his bench by the 
open door, and, when forbidden to look about, listened 
to the melodies of nature ; the rush of a far away river 
tumbling adown its rocky bed ; the liquid note of a 
bird's song ; the sheep-bells tinkling on the hills ; the 
summer wind rustling among the forest leaves ! And 
when, after supper, an hour was given him for himself, 
with what alacrity the boy straightened out his long, 
stiff legs and disappeared in the direction of the up- 
lands, to come back in the star-light, his hair and his 
clothes wet with dew, but having on his face a happy, 
dreamy look that none understood, or perhaps noticed. 
The truth is that Taffy was possessed to hunt for 
fairies. His brain was haunted with legends of the lit- 
tle green folk, with which that part of the country 
3 



34 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

teemed ; and, week in week out, the lad wondered how 
he could get a peep at the fairy doings he was certain 
went on in the neighborhood. During his rambles 
with his school-master, a year or two back, Taffy had 
been induced to open his store of ancient legends and 
superstitions for the scholar's entertainment, and 
great was his delight to find not only a sympathetic 
spirit, but a fellow believer in these enchanting mys- 
teries. The school-master knew many tales that Taffy 
had never heard ; and together they discoursed about 
fairy-rings and wishing-wells, cromlechs and devil's 
altars, hidden treasures and magic fountains, the 
achievements of by-gone Saints and the adventures of 
daring peasants. One day, while sitting upon a green 
bank by the side of a brawling stream to eat his mid- 
day meal of bread and cheese, the school-master spied, 
in the palm of Taffy's hand, a birth-mark like a tiny 
coal of fire. 

" You are a favored man, Taffy, did you but know 
it," he said. " This mark betokens the fact that you 
received a visit, while in your cradle, from one of the 
wee folk, and that you are destined, some time during 
your life, to take one of them by the hand. Only keep 
a sharp look-out, while you explore, and my word for 
it you will have a glorious opportunity." 

The school-master had long since gone away from 
their neighborhood, but Taffy remembered this, and 
many another of his sayings. He loathed his father's 
trade, thinking how much easier it would be to make 
a fortune by upsetting a rocking-stone, for instance, 
and finding underneath a pot of jewels, or, by digging 
at the bottom of a cromlech, to come upon a pouch of 
fairy gold. To accomplish this, he needed only the 
good will of the green people ; and, by way of propiti- 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 35 

ating them, Taffy fell upon a number of quaint devices. 
He would make moss-baskets and fill them with ripe 
berries, to set near the edge of a suspected copse ; or 
leave a wooden bowl of goats' milk, and a cake of white 
bread, on the margin of a running stream. Sometimes, 
when he could ask pay from the farmers' wives for a 
hand's turn of work done in their busy seasons, Taffy took 
it in the shape of a cream cheese, or a pat of fresh butter, 
or a couple of pearly eggs, which he would hasten to 
deposit in the root of an old tree in his favorite haunt, 
going hungry himself, that the wee people might ap- 
prove of him. What strengthened his belief, was that 
the bowls or platters he took there were always found 
again, empty and scoured clean and white as snow, 
with a silver penny in the bottom ; but, alas ! this was 
all. Not a sign or token could Taffy secure of their 
visible presence, though he knew the fairies no longer 
shunned him. He could have sworn that he heard 
their wings clashing in the thickets of an evening, and 
more than once a peal of elfin laughter reached his ear. 
Matters grew worse and worse in the cobbler's home. 
One day, Taffy was told he must go without his supper 
until he had put a patch on the minister's Sunday 
shoe, as it was then late Saturday evening, and the 
cobbler himself had to go to the village upon impor- 
tant business. Having locked up all the food there 
was in the cupboard, the cobbler departed, scolding 
Taffy as far as he could be heard. Taffy stitched away 
with dogged resolution, as it was beautiful spring 
weather, and he longed for nothing so much as freedom 
to go on a tramp through his beloved woods. But 
every thing went wrong ; his thread and awl broke, 
and, do what he could, his stitches failed. The minis- 
ter's patch threatened never to be affixed to the well- 



3 6 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

worn shoe. Taffy dropped his tools, and, between 
hunger and disappointment, felt ready to cry. At this 
critical moment he felt a pricking sensation in the 
fiery mark in the palm of his hand. Immediately, a 
tiny being hopped from under the leather scraps at his 
feet, and, placing his arms akimbo, laughed a goblin 
laugh in the astonished Taffy's face. 

He was the queerest little creature one ever saw. 
His merry face, puckered up into a thousand wrinkles, 
was lighted by a pair of eyes that shone with the green 
light of fire-flies. His hair stood on end, and his 
whole body was perpetually in motion, wavering like 
the shadow of a leaf. 

"Now, my lad ! " said the elf, to Taffy, "As I've had 
my sport out of you, it's but fair you should be re- 
warded. I came here to-night to do you a good turn, 
in recognition of the services you've done our band 
from time to time, especially the kind act of yesterday, 
when you lifted a fallen branch that was crushing our 
queen's favorite patch of blue star-flowers, in the wood." 

" I ask only one thing. Let me see your band and 
your queen," stammered Taffy, overpowered now that 
the long-looked-for moment had come. " Oh ! Mr. 
Fairy, if you knew how I have longed to see a revel." 

" Pooh ! Nonsense ! " exclaimed the elf. " You don't 
know what you're asking, lad. Be satisfied with this 
purse of silver pennies our queen has sent to you , 
and let me mend that shoe, or the good man will have 
to go barefoot to service to-morrow." 

Taffy took the pence and held his breath, while the 
little creature went to work, and, in a moment, had the 
great patch neatly in its place. Then, when the elf 
tapped the cupboard lock, open it flew, and Taffy found 
upon the shelves bread and meat, and ale of the very 




" Immediately a tiny being hopped from under the leather scraps at 
his feet, and placing his arms akimbo, laughed a goblin laugh in 
the astonished Taffy's face." 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 37 

best. The elf joined him at supper, talking merrily 
the while, but Taffy durst not ask him any of the ques- 
tions that were brimming to his lips. When the meal 
was over, the little man bade his companion good- 
night, and, before the boy's eyes could wink, flew away 
out of the open door. 

Without stopping to think, Taffy dropped the purse, 
and ran after him. Helter-skelter, up hill and down 
dale, his long legs carried the cobbler's son in pursuit 
of the tiny flitting thing he was resolved not to lose from 
his sight. What a wild chase that was — through thorn- 
patch and heather, through marshy field, and up rocky 
hillside — Taffy coursing swift as a hare, the elf's lumi- 
nous green body serving as a light to his pursuer's 
path. Now they went down into a dark valley, where 
the frogs and the lizards, the night-birds, and the crawl- 
ing creatures that infest a swamp, looked after them in 
surprise. Now they scaled a steep mountain wall, 
where snakes glided away from the path, and wild ani- 
mals crouched down till they had passed. Taffy, for- 
getting fear, continued to run, till at length the dan- 
cing green light in front of him stood still, at which 
he, too, stopped to take breath. Perspiration streamed 
from his body, his heart thumped against his ribs, and 
his tongue was dry and parched. 

" Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! " laughed the elf, still keeping a 
safe distance. " I've given you a pretty run, for your 
pains, Master Taffy. Stoop and quench your thirst at 
the rivulet you hear trickling through the stones beside 
you, before you try to answer ; and then tell me what 
you expect to gain by following me." 

Taffy not only drank, but bathed his head and hands 
in the sparkling water; and, feeling much refreshed, 
spoke cheerfully. 



38 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

"I have asked you once," he said ; " and if I were to 
live a thousand years, it would be the same request. I 
desire above everything to see your wee folk at their 
revels." 

" Since you are so determined," answered the elf, " I 
will give you a chance. If you had not kept up with 
me in the hunt without once falling down, however, I 
can tell you there'd have been no hope for you. As it 
is, I warn you that you are doing the silliest thing you 
could possibly think of ; and you are sure to repent 
it. Follow me, at a quieter pace this time, and 
when we reach a mill where there is an ancient logan 
(rocking) stone, hide behind the bushes and watch me 
summon an old woman who will counsel us. Obey 
her directions, and you will have your wish." 

They proceeded to a hill on top of which stood a 
great stone inscribed with mystic characters, that Taffy 
well remembered. He knew then that he was miles 
away from his own home, in a wild and desolate por- 
tion of the country, which he had visited only once 
before, in company with the schoolmaster. The logan 
stone, although of a huge size, (said to have been 
thrown there in old days by a giant standing on the 
Irish coast), was so nicely balanced that a child could 
set it in motion with a touch. The elf, who, by this 
time Taffy decided, could be none other than the fa- 
mous will-o'-the-wisp fairy, Pcwa, brushed against it 
with his wing, and the great mass began vibrating. 
The spot in Taffy's palm began to itch, and presently 
there came out from under the stone a little old 
woman, wearing a blue petticoat, a scarlet jacket, and 
a high-crowned yellow hat. 

" What would you, idle Pcwa ? " she asked, angrily ; 
"always at your tricks, I'll warrant." 



THE THREE SILVER E EAT HERS. 



39 



" I have been on a mission for the queen, mother," 
said Pcwa, who was the old woman's favorite son ; 
" and now, as you want me to know all of fairy lore, 
I've come to ask what a mortal must do who would 
look upon our revels." 

" Have you such a grudge against any mortal ? " 
cried the old woman, reprovingly ; " off with you Pcwa, 
and try to be less mischievous. Be content to lead the 
foolish creatures astray, to trip their feet and bump 
their heads ; and beware how you permit any poor 
wretch to risk his life in the way you propose." 

" But, at least, you'll tell me how it might be done, 
mammy," said Pcwa coaxingly. " It is the only bit of 
fairy knowledge I'm ignorant of ; and yester e'en the 
others taunted me, because my education will never be 
finished, they say." 

" Did they so ? " exclaimed the fairy, stamping her 
foot ; "then remember this, to stop their saucy mouths 
with, my own boy. Only he who has had a fairy's kiss 
in his cradle, leaving a red mark like a coal of fire 
upon his flesh, can see us without being instantly struck 
blind. If the mortal who wishes to behold us has been 
thus favored by our race, let him stand under the yew- 
tree in the middle of the oak forest at midnight. If a 
fog arises, cutting the forest off from the rest of the 
world, he may see the dance occur, and may live after 
looking at it. But should he rashly set one foot into 
our ring, he will belong to us, to do our pleasure or to 
receive our punishment." 

" That's better than I thought," exclaimed Pcwa, 
winking at Taffy hidden behind the bushes. Thanking 
the old fairy, her son waited till she had gone under 
the stone again, before setting forth with his comrade 
in the direction of the oak forest. Taffy's heart now 



4 o THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

beat high with anticipation, as he followed Pcwa, who, 
obliging though he had become, could not refrain from 
playing a variety of frolicsome tricks upon the cobbler's 
son, leading him a lively dance before they reached the 
great yew-tree in the centre of the forest. 

It was now well on to midnight, and the moon shone 
brilliantly, silvering the forest glens and making each 
blade of grass or stem of flower appear in unearthly 
beauty. As Taffy took his stand behind the yew-tree 
bole a strange wind blew, a white mist arose, surround- 
ing the spot on which he stood, and leaving but a ver- 
dant circle exposed, directly at his feet. Pcwa vanished, 
and Taffy's palm began to itch. Then arrived a little 
man in moss breeches, with a fiddle under his arm. He 
was the tiniest specimen of humanity imaginable. His 
coat was made of birch-leaves, his feet were shod in 
slippers of beetles' wings ; and, for a hat, he jauntily 
sported a reversed flower of the gorse. Perching upon 
a stump, the little fiddler drew his bow over his instru- 
ment, and Taffy's hair stood on end at the sweetness 
of the sound. And now the itching of his palm in- 
creased to a violent degree, so that he felt like crying 
out. But he restrained the impulse, and, at once, 
from all parts of the forest, came trooping little people, 
the women dressed in blue and white and rose color, 
with cobweb scarfs and dewdrop diadems, and the 
men in coats of dragon-fly wings, with flower hats. 
All, bearing in their hands glowworm torches, tripped 
so lightly, that the finest spear of moss did not bend 
beneath their weight. Such exquisite beauty and grace 
was never dreamed of ! When they formed into figures 
for the dance, bowing and curtseying to each other, 
and the fiddler struck up a fairy measure, Taffy felt as 
as if an electric current of purest bliss had passed into 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 41 

his blood. His head reeled, and he had to cling with 
both arms to the tree to keep his footing. As the 
dance went on, he became more and more excited — 
until, completely forgetting himself and the cautions 
lie had received, the foolish boy kicked off his heavy 
country shoes, and bounced into the middle of the 
ring! 

"Play away, old fellow," he shouted, tossing his cap 
into the air, and seizing the prettiest fairy by the hand ; 
" I'm for a dance once, if I have to die for it." 

Taffy fell to capering, about as gracefully as a donkey 
would, while peal after peal of shrill mocking laughter 
rang through the air. Then, surrounding him, a num- 
ber of the fairies swarmed and stung like bees ; others 
pinched his calves black and blue ; others tickled him 
u nder the arms until he shrieked for mercy. Going down 
upon his knees in the magic circle, he saw that, instead 
of the gorse-blossom cap on the fiddler's head, a pair 
of goat's horns sprouted, while the musician's face had 
turned as black as soot, and cloven feet replaced the 
jaunty pumps. Some of the fairies became foxes, some 
goats, some dogs, some cats. They whirled about him 
like a nightmare, shouting and laughing discordantly, 
and increasing their speed till their ring resembled a 
wheel of fire. At this point, Taffy lost consciousness, 
and fed senseless on the ground. 

When our hero came to himself, he was standing 
upon a hillside looking over toward Frennifawr, around 
whose summit transparent ribbons of mist were twining 
in the light of the rising sun. The scene beneath and 
around him was one of surpassing freshness and beauty, 
and the air was sweet with the perfume of the gorse. 
Sheep wandered near him, tinkling their bells ; and 
everything breathed peace to his bewildered spirit. 



42 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

Trying to recall what had befallen him, Taffy sought a 
path leading in the direction of his home. 

"I shall get a strapping for this," he said ; "but it 
was worth it." 

His limbs felt strangely stiff, and he could with diffi- 
culty stand upright. 

" No wonder, since I lay on the damp ground all 
night long," he reflected, hobbling onward. But, when 
he had crossed the hillock dividing him from his father's 
valley, Taffy saw, to his extreme surprise, that, instead 
of the tumble-down cottage of his former home, a fine 
stone farm-house had arisen, surrounded by comfort- 
able out-buildings, yards and stacks. 

" This is some fairy trick," he said, stopping short. 
" It was only last night that I left home, and in that 
short time they have built my father a new house. 
Well, I only hope it's real. Perhaps 't will vanish at a 
breath, as their fine clothes did, last night. Anyhow, 
I'll soon satisfy myself about it." 

He hastened down the steep path, to cross into the 
rear of what was once the cottage garden. The first 
thing he did there was to run into a stout hedge of some 
prickly shrub, that must have taken years to attain its 
present growth. Taffy rubbed his eyes, scratched his 
head, felt the hedge again, and, running a sharp thorn 
into his finger, clapped the finger into his mouth, ex- 
claiming : 

" Whew ! these are real thorns, and no mistake. How, 
in the name of wonder, did they grow in so short a 
time ? I'll be blest if I am not losing my wits." 

He managed to scramble over the hedge, and found 
himself in a well-kept barn-yard, where a strange, fierce 
dog came bounding toward him, barking furiously. 

" Down, sir ! Down ! you ill-mannered brute ! whose 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 43 

dog are you ?" cried Taffy. " Well ! if I had not been 
born and bred here, I should think I was in somebody 
else's place." 

The dog barked louder than ever. 

" Surely, I've wandered astray," said confused Taffy. 
" But no ! there is the mountain top, and all the old 
landmarks are the same." 

While he was gazing over at the misty mountain sum- 
mit, a man came out of the house to see why the dog 
barked so angrily. Poor Taffy stood there ragged and 
forlorn, and the good man's heart was touched. 

" Where do you come from, and who are you ? " he 
asked, in no unfriendly tone. Taffy looked into his 
face appealingly. 

" I know who I wr„s," he answered, sadly ; " but who 
I am now, I begin to doubt. I was Taffy, the son of 
Sion the shoemaker, whose cottage stood on this very 
spot only yesterday ; and I came from the forest where 
I have spent the night. Much as the place has changed, 
the mountain yonder, and the rocks and woods about 
it, have not altered." 

" Why, man ! " cried the farmer, " you have surely 
lost your wits ! The main part of the house here was 
built by my great-grandfather, and repaired by my 
grandfather. I added the wing about three years ago ; 
but the farm has been in our possession time out of 
mind. He seems to be a harmless fellow," the master 
added, to his wife, who now drew near. " But it is quite 
evident that he is deranged. Let us give him food and 
drink, and allow him to rest inside." 

Still Taffy lingered, and looked about him. " It was 
but yesterday that daddy punished me for robbing the 
hawk's nest in that tree over there, and bade me set to 
work at the patch on the minister's shoe," he exclaimed, 



44 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

persistently ; " I could take oath that it was but yester- 
day." 

The farmer and his wife looked at each other, and 
shook their heads. They said no more, convinced as 
they were of the wanderer's insanity ; but led him within 
doors, giving him food and a fire-side corner. 

By the time evening came, Taffy, refreshed and 
strengthened, asked the farmer if he had never heard 
of Sion Evan y Crydd o Glanrhyd (the cobbler's full 
name). " I never heard of such a person in this village," 
said the man ; " but do you try to remember what you 
have been doing since you left here * yesterday,' as you 
say." 

" I am almost afraid you will not believe it," answered 
Taffy, " but what I am going to tell you is as true as 
that I am here talking to you." 

So he recounted every item of his adventures to the 
farmer and his wife, from the moment when the elfin 
visitor appeared to him from the pile of leather cuttings, 
to that when he had fallen dizzy and senseless, in the 
middle of the fairy ring. 

The farmer listened as if uncertain whether or not 
to credit him; but the good wife, whose head, like Taffy's 
own, was stuffed in every chink and crevice with fairy 
lore, followed his tale with breathless interest. 

"It is no wonder he is dazed," she said, devoutly. 
" Poor boy ! poor boy ! See, husband, his clothes are 
of such a pattern as we have never seen, here ; though 
his face is still young and fair. Let us all three hasten 
to the hut of old Catti Shon, the oldest crone in the 
village, who preserves every tale and legend of the 
past in memory. Perhaps she may throw some light 
upon this poor lad's history." 

The suggestion adopted, the three walked to old 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 45 

Catti's house. They found her in appearance so 
ancient and feeble that she seemed nothing but a bag 
of rattling bones, crouching over a pile of faggots. 

" How do you do, the day, Mother Catti ? " asked the 
man, kindly. 

" Wonderful well, farmer, wonderful well," mumbled 
the crone, "considering my years." 

" Yes, Catti, you are very old, and it's for that reason 
we've come to ask if you remember ever hearing any- 
thing about a cobbler named Sion y Crydd o Glan- 
rhyd, in these parts long ago. Was there ever such a 
man here ? " 

" Sion Glanrhyd," repeated Catti. " Well, it does 
seem to me I remember my grandfather, old Evan 
Shenkin, telling a queer story about Sion the shoe- 
maker. Surely he was father to the boy that had the 
fairy mark in the palm of his left hand. 'Queer 
Taffy,' the village children called him. One night Taffy 
disappeared from home, leaving a purse of silver on 
his working-bench, and never was heard of more. 
They said the fairies got him. His father's cot stood 
about where your house does now ; eh ! but it's long 
ago " 

" Have there been fairies seen here in your day, 
Catti ? " asked the farmer's wife, breathlessly. 

" Oh ! yes. Yonder hill was a famous place for 
them ; and in old times they used to steal eggs and milk 
from the barn yards and dairies near, to make the 
flummery they'd eat at their festivals, out of egg-shell 
cups. Many's the ring I've seen stamped out on the 
green-sward, the morning after their dances. Strange, 
you should have asked me about old Sion. Just this 
morning I was thinking over the way his son got that 
fairy mark. Some said 'twas a good fairy's kiss given 



46 THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 

him in the cradle, others declared it was a spiteful 
fairy's bite." 

While Catti was mumbling out these sentences in 
her disjointed way, Taffy was listening with all his ears. 
When they went out of the crone's hut, he silently ex- 
tended his left hand for the inspection of his new found 
friends. There, in the centre, glowed a mark like a 
coal of fire. 

" Poor lad ! poor lad ! " repeated the farmer's wife. 
li Husband, we will give him a place at our board, 
and he can work about the farm." 

The farmer assented, though in his heart he felt un- 
comfortable about the whole business, which seemed to 
him uncanny. 

" Come on ; hurry home. The day is closing, and 
the milking is yet to be done," he said, starting off 
with his wife to walk at a brisk pace in the direction of 
their house. 

The path was narrow, and Taffy followed them. 
Presently the good couple, hearing the sound of his 
footsteps grow weaker and weaker, turned round, 
when, to their dismay, they saw the poor fellow fall and 
crumble instantly into a handful of black ashes at their 
feet. In the midst of these ashes shone a single spark, 
but that was soon extinct. 

To this day, the grandchildren of that farmer and 
his wife tell the woful tale of poor Taffy to their gos- 
sips. 



" Why did he fall to ashes ? " cried Regi, full of 
sympathy; "and how long did the fairies keep him, 
really ? " 

" He was bewitched," said the three feathers. " This 



THE THREE SILVER FEATHERS. 



47 



was his punishment, after a century and a half of im- 
prisonment ; I suppose it was for daring to take a fairy 
by the hand." 

" I like all but the ending," the little boy observed. 
" Taffy was the nicest sort of a fellow, I think ; and it 
was too mean to finish it that way. It nearly spoiled the 
story." 

"Well, that was the way some people ended it," 
answered the brooch. "Others declared that Taffy, 
though never able to do much work, lived to a green 
old age in the farmer's family. They said that the 
good wife, who had at least a dozen children, was al- 
ways quite satisfied when she knew they were in Taffy's 
charge, clinging around his neck, swarming on his 
knees, begging for fairy-tales as eagerly as you do ; and 
that his own story, never more than half credited in the 
country-side, was told to these admirers so often that 
it was worn quite threadbare." 

" That's good ! That's good ! " cried the boy clap- 
ping his hands. "That's my ending. But which do 
you believe in, three feathers ? " 

"As to believing," answered the brooch, " it's neither 
here nor there. You had better not ask that question 
until the Christmas holidays are over." 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

" I am now at your disposal, friend," said, next day, 
a pipe of Eastern workmanship, richly decorated with 
gold and silken tassels, having a mouth-piece of carved 
amber. 

Regi dropped into a chair, and the pipe forthwith 
began : 

Once there lived a merchant who had a wife and 
three sons, Salim, Selim and Joodar. Joodar, the 
youngest, was of an affectionate and thoughtful dispo- 
sition, and when the father died, leaving his property 
to be divided in equal portions among the four surviv- 
ors, it was an easy matter for the two wicked elder 
brothers to wheedle Joodar's share and that belonging 
to their mother, into their own keeping. Before a year 
had passed, Salim and Selim had spent most of their 
own money in riotous living ; and they then deter- 
mined to take the rest and go off with it into a distant 
country, where they might enjoy their ill-gotten gains 
undisturbed. Accordingly, one night they disap- 
peared, leaving their mother and Joodar penniless. 
After the first burst of grief and shame was spent, 
Joodar comforted his mother, telling her that he was 
strong and young, and could make enough to keep 
them both. Not knowing any other way to earn a 
living, he bought a fishing-net, and went out to cast it 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 49 

into the desolate lake of Karoon, of which, as it was 
said to be haunted, all other fishermen were afraid. 

This lake was surrounded by frowning hills, and its 
waters were black as ink. Joodar was about to cast his 
net, when up rode a solitary traveller, a Moor to all 
appearance, mounted upon a richly caparisoned mule. 

"Do my bidding, Joodar, son of Omar," the new- 
comer said, to his surprise, "and whatever may happen 
to me, nothing but good can come to you from it." 

" I am at your service, my lord," answered the fish- 
erman, politely. 

"Then bind my hands tightly with this silken cord ; 
throw me into the water ; watch patiently until either 
my hands or my feet appear on the surface. If it be 
my hands, cast in quickly and drag me ashore. If it be 
my feet, be assured that I have perished, and make no 
attempt to save me. If I perish, take my mule and 
saddle-bags to- Shumeyah, the Jew, who lives at the end 
of your street, and he will pay you a hundred pieces of 
gfbld for your trouble." 

Joodar bowed, in token of obedience ; and imme- 
diately the Moor sprang into the dark waters, and was 
lost to sight. Anxiously did the fisherman stand upon 
the shore, prepared to cast his net. But in a short 
time the feet of the unfortunate stranger appeared on 
the surface, and then sank forever into the abyss. 
Slowly and mournfully did Joodar drive the mule to 
the house of Shumeyah the Jew, who seemed not sur- 
prised to see him, but told out to him in silence the 
promised pieces of gold. 

Joodar made haste to buy food and firewood for his 
mother, and they enjoyed a good hot supper. Con- 
cealing his gold in the house, he was tempted next day 
to revisit with his net, the same mysterious lake. Did 
4 



50 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

his eyes deceive him ? There, upon the bank, sat an- 
other Moor, exactly resembling the first, with mule, 
saddle-bags, and accoutrements complete. 

" Joodar, son of Omar," said the Moor, " do my bid- 
ding as you did that of my unsuccessful brother yester- 
day. Bind my hands with this silken cord ; throw me 
into the water. If my hands appear, haste to draw me 
ashore, and you shall be richly rewarded. If my feet 
come uppermost, it is useless to attempt to save me. 
Go your way as before to the house of Shumeyah the 
Jew, who will receive the mule, and reward you with 
a hundred pieces of gold." 

Joodar would have pleaded with the Moor to aban- 
don his rash enterprise ; but the stranger was deter- 
mined, would listen to no reason, and calmly kept on 
with his preparations. Seeing him so determined, 
Joodar did as he was bid. The Moor sprang into the 
lake and disappeared, with, alas ! the same result as 
before. In a short time his feet arose to the surface, 
then sank to rise no more. 

Joodar drove the mule back to the Jew, who sighed 
as he counted out the money. " He should have been 
content," said Shumeyah, as if to himself ; " I told him 
how it would be, but he would not hear me." 

Joodar carried the hundred pieces of gold, and 
added them to what he had previously received. Next 
day, excited by his adventures, he could not resist again 
betaking himself to the shore of Lake Karoon. It 
seemed quite natural to him to find there a third 
stranger exactly resembling the two unfortunates who 
had drowned themselves before his eyes. 

"I know what you would have of me," cried the 
honest fisherman. u Bind your hands, cast you into the 
water, drive your mule back, and get a hundred pieces 




"Soon a pair of hands rose to the surface, and Zoodar, with an excla- 
mation of joy, cast out his net briskly." 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN TIRE. 51 

of gold for the job. But, by the beard of the prophet, 
I'm tired of the business. I'll not stand by and see an- 
other fellow-creature drowned, heretic though he be." 

" Something tells me that I shall escape the fate of 
my two unhappy brothers," answered the Moor, with a 
grave smile. " Say what you will, Joodar, you can't 
prevent me from trying the experiment." 

So the end of it was, that Joodar tied his hands, 
and saw him leap boldly into the forbidding sheet of 
water. Soon, a pair of hands rose to the surface, and 
Joodar, with an exclamation of joy, cast out his net 
briskly, bringing to land, after some struggling, the 
Moor safe and sound. In his hand he held two fishes, 
red as coral. 

" Quick ! Fetch me the two glass boxes you will 
find in my saddle-bags," cried the traveller, as soon as 
he was free of the net. 

Joodar fetched the boxes, and in them the Moor 
placed the two fishes he had brought from the bottom 
of the lake. Having done this, he embraced Joodar, 
saying : 

" I owe my life to you, and I shall not prove un- 
grateful. Know that my father was a mighty magician, 
and that the two who perished in your sight, and my- 
self, are his three sons. At his death, there was distrib- 
uted between us an immense fortune. But more than 
all else, each coveted as his own the invaluable book 
of magic from which our father derived his wisdom. 
This could not be divided, and upon opening it, we 
read upon the fly-leaf, written in our father's hand, 
these words : ' Rest content, my children, with the 
wealth I have amassed, and seek not to acquire the 
magic art. The only one of you who is entitled to 
hold this book, must be he who shall acquire the treas- 



52 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

ures of Shamardal. These treasures, consisting of a 
sword, a salve-pot, a talisman, and a seal-ring, are so 
hidden from mortal sight, that to know how to reach 
them, you must first capture two sons of the Red King, 
who have changed themselves into red fish and inhabit 
the lonely lake of Karoon. It is impossible to effect 
this capture without terrible risk to your own lives, 
and nobody living can help you, except a young fisher- 
man living at Cairo, named Joodar, son of Omar, if you 
are so rash as to attempt the venture.' For a time we 
were content to enjoy life and wealth, without disobey- 
ing our father's expressed wish. But, at length, our 
longing to dabble in the art of magic, and to handle 
the treasures of Shamardal, became so powerful as to 
make us think of nothing else by night and by day. 
We resolved to risk the capture of the coral fishes ; and 
how it was accomplished, you know. My poor brothers 
were, it appears, predestined to meet their death, and 
to me has fallen the great inheritance. To you, to 
whom I owe so much, I offer myself as a friend and 
brother. Without you, so says the writing of my father, 
the sealed treasures of Shamardal cannot be opened. 
Come then, I pray you, travel with me to my own coun- 
try, and I will give you riches to last the remainder of 
your days, and to be left behind you when you die." 

Joodar pondered over these strange things, and 
finally decided to accept the invitation, asking only 
time to say farewell to his mother, and to leave every 
provision for her comfort. He did so ; and then they 
mounted together on the mule, who in a short time 
began speeding over plains and mountains, with the 
swiftness of the wind. 

"She is an enchanted beast," said the Moor, smiling at 
Joodar's astonishment. " Now, as we have travelled 






THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 53 

several hundred miles, it will be well to take refresh- 
ment." 

"With all my heart," said Joodar, who was very 
hungry ; " but seeing that we are in the middle of a 
desert, I don't know where you expect to find food 
and drink." 

"Here," answered the Moor, tapping his saddle-bags, 
as they alighted. " Say what you like best, and you 
shall have it." 

Joodar named his favorite dish, and the Moor pro- 
ceeded to draw from the saddlebags, not only a boun- 
tiful supply of that dainty, served in a golden platter, 
but another, and another, smoking hot and savory, with 
fruit and sweets, flagons of ruby wine, and napkins 
fringed with silver. Joodar's eyes grew big with de- 
light and astonishment. 

" So long as we journey, we may call for what we 
will," remarked the Moor. " But come, my friend, 
begin and eat your fill." 

Joodar needed no second invitation. Never had he 
eaten such delicious food. They resumed their ride 
and, by nightfall, reached a splendid palace, where the 
Moor was greeted as master by trains of gorgeous 
slaves, and where Joodar was assigned a chamber of 
marble, hung with silks and cooled by fountains of 
orange-flower water plashing in jewelled basins. 

After a few days' sojourn in the Moor's palace, Joodar 
was informed that, on the morrow, they would set out 
for the valley of the treasures of Shamardal. 

Mounted, as before, on the enchanted mule, the two 
travelled through a vast and impenetrable wilderness, 
pausing upon the bank of a mighty river. Here, at the 
Moor's direction, Joodar kindled a fire of sticks. " And 
now, Joodar, you are approaching the critical moment 



54 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN FIFE. 



of our experiment," said the Moor, who suddenly grew 
to an immense height, while his features assumed an 
aspect far more noble and commanding than that of 
any monarch. "All depends upon your obedience 
and your courage. When I begin to chant, as I shall 
presently do, do not interrupt me by a word. Show no 
surprise at what you may see, and when the gates of 
Shamardal open before you, press fearlessly forward to 
enter them. Combat every form you meet, no matter 
what, striking at it with all your might, with the sword 
I now give to you." 

Joodar bowed in silence, and the Moor, taking from 
his robe the two glass boxes containing the coral fishes, 
broke them above the fire, at the same time casting in- 
cense into the flame, and muttering mystic words. The 
fish changed into two enormous genii, who curled up 
into the air like flames. 

" Genii, I conjure ye," said the Moor, in a voice of 
thunder. " You are my slaves, and to me you must 
open the gates of Shamardal. Behold the youth Joodar, 
son of Omar, who is predestined to enter there." 

"Lord, we obey," answered the genii, crouching 
to earth in submissive attitude. 

The Moor began to chant words in a tongue that 
Joodar could not comprehend. And now was heard the 
rustling of boughs in the forest, as if a great storm were 
at hand. The wind moaned and the river dashed huge 
billows on the bank. Then the earth quaked and loud 
thunder was heard. All became dark, save the river, 
which shone with an unearthly light, as it was sucked 
up into a broad column like a gigantic water-spout, re- 
vealing, in the dry bed of the stream, the gilded door 
of a subterranean cavern. Summoning all his courage, 
and with drawn sword in hand, Joodar leaped into the 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 55 

chasm, knocking thrice upon the door. The gates flew 
open, and an armed man, rushing out, struck furiously 
at Joodar with his scimetar, but was repulsed as lustily. 
Within was a second gate, where the same experience 
awaited him. At the third gate, a lion bounded forth. 
At the fourth, two serpents coiled up to attack him. 
But each and all of these enemies vanished at the 
first touch of his sword, for they saw that the new- 
comer was armed with true courage, against which 
they were powerless. At last came an apparition 
that made Joodar's stout heart quail. Who should ap- 
pear but his own mother, clasping her hands, and im- 
ploring him not to strike her ? Joodar's sword-arm 
fell nerveless by his side, and immediately the image 
of his mother vanished, a mocking laugh echoed near, 
and he received a violent blow in the face, knocking 
him senseless. Then was heard the clanging-to of iron 
doors, the yell of triumphant laughter, the rush of a 
mighty wave, as the river, returning to its bed, cast 
Joodar, bleeding and insensible, on the bank at the feet 
of his friend. 

" You should have been prepared for the many tricks 
of magic," said the Moor, when Joodar came to him- 
self. "The image of your mother was but a shape 
sent to tempt you. I do not blame you, since you 
have proved your manhood and fidelity. Only, we 
must wait now for another year before we repeat our 
experiment." 

The year was spent pleasantly enough in the palace 
of the Moor, who redoubled his kindness to Joodar. 
When again the moment came to test the opening of 
the vaults, all happened as before. The river rolled 
back, Joodar passed through several doors successfully, 
and when he reached the last, the image of his mother 



56 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

appeared, with streaming eyes, and clasped hands, im- 
ploring him to spare her. Closing his eyes, Joodar 
uttered a short prayer, and aimed a blow at her with 
the sword, which to his surprise seemed to cut the air. 
The phantom vanished, and instead of laughter around 
him, he heard groans and exclamations of rage. The 
great doors rolled back, disclosing, in all its majesty, 
the tomb of Shamardal ! There, in full view, lay the 
four coveted treasures : the sword, the pot of oint- 
ment, the talisman and the seal-ring. No wonder the 
Moor longed to possess them ! With that sword in his 
hand, any adversary who might confront him would 
fall as if struck by lightning ; by rubbing the eyelids 
with that salve, all hidden treasures of the earth would 
be revealed ; by touching the talisman, one might look 
upon the doings of the whole world at once ; while the 
owner of the ring would have power to order and com- 
pel obedience from any monarch of the earth ! 

Taking possession of the treasures, Joodar turned 
to go ; as he did so, a mighty volume of sound, like the 
triumphant shouts of liberated spirits, burst upon his 
ears. The walls of the cavern seemed to fall, and a 
tremendous current of air wafted him, half-senseless, 
across the portal, through the channel of the river, to 
the feet of the friendly Moor. 

And now, his task accomplished, Joodar begged his 
friend to allow him to return home, as he felt naturally 
anxious to see his mother. The Moor loaded him with 
gold and jewels, and insisted upon his asking for 
whichever one of the treasures he might prefer to own. 
Joodar shook his head. 

"I've had enough of magic," he said ; " unless, in- 
deed, I might own that kitchen genius who supplies 
the saddle-bags. He is a fellow after my own heart." 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 57 

The Moor presented him with the saddle-bags, and 
mounted him on the enchanted mule, who travelled 
like the wind in the direction of Joodar's home, leav- 
ing him there at dusk. When he reached the gates of 
the city, the first object Joodar descried was his own 
mother, half-starved and ragged, begging for alms of 
every passer-by. When she found that her son had 
returned, the poor woman nearly died of joy. What 
was Joodar's disgust to find that the gold he had left 
at home, enough to have sustained .her in luxury for 
ten years, had been spent by the two wicked brothers, 
after wasting their own ill-gotten gains in a distant 
land. 

" We are all now in equal misery," said the unfortu- 
nate mother. " Your unhappy brothers are starving, 
and, in spite of their ingratitude, I cannot forsake them. 
What little I get from the charitable, goes to nourish 
them and myself." 

When Joodar saw the destitution of their home, and 
the wan faces of his miserable brothers, his kind heart 
forgave them everything. Leading his mother into 
an inner room, he told her the secret of the saddle- 
bags, and quickly conjured up a warm and generous 
meal, which all enjoyed. The same day he purchased 
furniture and household utensils, clothing, and every- 
thing necessary to make happiness return to the im- 
poverished establishment. For a time, the brothers 
were all gratitude and devotion, but, by-and-by, they 
began to wonder how it was that Joodar and their 
mother produced these delicious meals, without either 
going to market or shop, or kindling a fire to cook 
with. Idleness breeds curiosity, as we know, and in an 
unlucky moment the two vagabonds discovered the 
secret of the saddle-bags. From that moment, they re- 



58 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

solved to get rid of Joodar, and live in indulgence of 
their gluttonous tastes without his aid. To this end, 
they consulted with a disreputable old slave-trader, 
about to send a cargo away from their port. The 
slave-trader agreed to carry out their plot, and on an 
appointed day, he and two of his followers came to 
sup at the house of Joodar. 

Joodar received them, as he did all guests, with 
open-handed hospitality. A bountiful meal was placed 
at their disposal. Roast fowls, rice, kabobs, honey, 
sweetmeats, fruits and wine were all there ; and when 
they had finished, they invited Joodar to walk with 
them to the water-side to view their vessel. Once on 
the wharf, he was seized, gagged, and carried aboard 
the pirate ship, which immediately set sail. The two 
brothers persuaded their mother that her son had de- 
cided to go upon another voyage in search of fortune, 
in answer to a summons from his Moorish friend, 
leaving the saddle-bags and his store of gold for their 
own use, during his absence. 

For more than a twelvemonth did Joodar endure the 
painful lot of a galley-slave ; hard work and privation 
were his daily lot. At last the vessel whose oars he 
helped to tug, was wrecked on the coast of Barbary, 
and the entire crew, with the exception of himself, were 
lost. After many adventures, he took service with a 
merchant intending to go to Mecca, and they set out 
upon the long and weary pilgrimage. 

In the holy city, to Joodar's delight, he met his 
friend, the Moorish magician, who welcomed him most 
cordially, releasing him from his bond to the merchant, 
and loading him with favors. 

"Tell me what more I can do for you ? " asked the 
Moor, finally. 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 59 

" I should like to see all that has gone on since my 
absence from home," answered Joodar, sadly. 

The Moor rubbed his talisman, and a cloud of 
smoke arose. As it cleared away, Joodar saw, in a 
vision, the figures of his mother and his two brothers. 
In the first scene revealed to him, the mother was 
weeping, and asking why Joodar had left her without 
saying farewell. To this, the brothers answered it was 
because he had to obey the summons of the Moor, no 
matter when and where he might be called. This 
picture became dim, and was succeeded by another, 
which showed the wicked wretches, weary of their 
mother's lamentations for her absent son, despoiling 
and beating her. Then ensued a violent quarrel over 
the goods, each claiming the saddle-bags, which were 
no good if divided. Upon the noise they made in this 
dispute, an officer rushed in, the jewels and saddle- 
bags were placed in the royal treasury, the brothers 
were cast into prison, and the mother was provided 
for by royal order. 

"It is clear that I should be at home," said Joodar, 
mournfully. 

" Be of good cheer," said the Moor, taking from his 
finger the ring of Shamardal. " I have resolved to be- 
stow upon you this share of my treasures, which in- 
deed, you most richly deserve. As I am about to 
retire to a retreat where I may indulge in the study of 
magic undisturbed, it is probable we may not meet 
again. Never allow this ring to leave your finger, and 
a touch upon it will place at your command a power- 
ful slave, one of the mightiest of the genii." 

Joodar received the noble gift, taking leave of his 
benefactor with many tears. With a wish and a touch 
upon the ring, he was at Cairo, in the street before his 



60 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

mother's house. The meeting between them was most 
joyful, and Joodar learned that his brothers were still 
in prison, while the Sultan, not being able to resist 
the splendid jewels of the Moor, had seized upon them 
and the saddle-bags, under the pretence of confiscating 
them to the service of Allah. 

Joodar listened in silence, then, summoning the Spirit 
of the Ring, ordered him to transport the wicked broth- 
ers into the room where he sat. When these wretches, 
ragged and degraded, arrived before their brother, they 
fell abjectly upon their faces, terrified beyond measure 
at the appearance of the genie who had conveyed them 
hither. Joodar, refusing to listen to their excuses, 
sentenced them to be carried into a far away mountain- 
ous country, where they might break stones for an 
honest living. 

" What you did to me, I might have pardoned," 
he said severely ; " but your cruelty to our helpless 
mother deserves a far worse fate than is allotted you." 
And immediately they were carried by the genie into 
exile. 

Then Joodar rubbed his ring, commanding that during 
the night a superb palace should be erected, furnished 
in every part and provided with everything needful to 
a royal home. At sunrise next morning, the inhabi- 
tants of Cairo gathered in crowds to admire the beau- 
tiful dwelling with its crystal dome and walls of fretted 
marble, that had sprung up in the night. 

The same morning, the Sultan's treasurer, pale with 
alarm, ran to tell his master, that although neither bolt 
nor bar of the treasury had been disturbed, the entire 
contents of the vaults had been removed. 

"Who is this man who has built his palace in a 
night?" quoth the angry Sultan. " He, no doubt, is 



THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 61 

the thief, and with his spoils he has worked this mir- 
acle. Send at once to order him to appear before me." 

So an officer with fifty men proceeded to the palace 
of Joodar, where they found sitting before the door a 
single black slave of gigantic frame, who held in his 
hand a wand no larger than a wire. Upon their de- 
mand for Joodar, the slave, who was really the Spirit of 
the Ring, replied that his master could not be seen, 
no matter who asked for him. The enraged officer 
struck at him with his mace, but the slave, lightly as 
if he had been brushing off so many flies, put one after 
another of the soldiers to flight. 

Off ran the officer in dismay, returning with a hun- 
dred fresh men, who now fell left and right, as if 
knocked down by a shower of blinding hailstones. 
Such a disgrace to the army of the Sultan could not be 
thought of ! Evidently the palace and its owner were 
under the protection of some magic power, and the 
Vizier suggested that the Sultan had better treat 
Joodar as a friend than as an enemy. 

The Sultan thought over the matter, coming to the 
wise conclusion that he was being punished for his 
unjust seizure of Joodar's saddle-bags and jewels. So, 
accompanied by a large body of picked troops, he rode 
in state to the palace of the upstart, which to his sur- 
prise he found guarded by row upon row of troops in 
shining armor, conjured there for the moment by the 
Spirit of the Ring. 

Joodar received his distinguished guest with a stern 
and questioning look, and the Sultan, completely 
abashed, owned that, urged by covetousness, he had 
been tempted to appropriate the wonderful gems and 
saddle-bags. 

" If you are willing to own to this," said the haughty 



62 THE STORY OF THE ARABIAN PIPE. 

Joodar, "let there be peace between us. Nothing be- 
longing to your treasury shall be found missing when 
next you enter it." 

The Sultan rode home, receiving on his departure 
a chain of pearls as large as pigeons' eggs, and a 
jewelled scimetar, the like of which no eye had seen. 
His next thought was that one so rich and powerful as 
Joodar should be bound to him by the ties of marriage. 
So he entrusted his prime minister to arrange an al- 
liance between the owner of the Spirit of the Ring and 
his own lovely daughter. Joodar consented readily, 
and in a short time became the husband of the most 
beautiful creature in the land. 

Upon the Sultan's death, Joodar succeeded him, 
reigning long and happily. As for the two wicked 
brothers, they continued to pound stones for the re- 
mainder of their days. 



" I almost think there can't be a better one than 
that," commented the little boy. "But I won't say 
yet." 



THE NORWEGIAN WEDDING 
CROWN'S STORY. 

The object that spoke the next day, was a high crown 
of filigree silver, wrought in points like leaves, and set 
with colored stones. It occupied a lofty position on 
the summit of a neighboring cabinet, and, by the maid 
who reverently dusted it, was believed to have been the 
property of some great and proud monarch. 

" Although my mistress — my late mistress, I should 
say — was only a fisherman's wife," remarked the crown, 
"she held her head pretty high, for she came of a family 
that for several generations had handed me down as 
an heirloom. I am a marriage-crown, as I heard your 
father explaining to you the other day, and to wear 
one of my elegance is an undoubted mark of gentility 
among the Norwegian peasants. Well do I remember 
the pride with which the women of the family would 
take me from the shelf, and polish and rub me up to 
be the chief glory of the wedding festival. That pol- 
ishing-time was also a signal for a lecture to the bride- 
to-be ; and I cannot remember that she ever relished it 
any more than you seem to do the remarks of your 
worthy governess." 

"Let's skip the worthy governess," said Regi ; " and 
tell me what sort of a house you lived in." 

" I have lived in various houses. Perhaps the one 
before the last would have pleased you most. The 



64 NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWNS STORY. 

owners were well-to-do people, and they kept it in good 
order. The walls and floor were made of polished 
wood that smelt very sweet when the fires were lighted. 
Around the rafters they carved texts, which were 
painted in red and blue. The chairs and tables, 
benches and cupboards, and the stationary beds were 
also carved beautifully with bears and foxes, wheat and 
brambles, pine-cones and flowers of field and forest. 
On the shelves were ornaments, consisting of whales' 
teeth, silver spoons from Lapland, chains, buttons and 
belts of silver, shells and various curiosities brought 
by sailor friends from other countries. When my late 
mistress married, her parents were much displeased 
with her for taking up with a mere fisherman. But 
she loved him, and gave up her pretty home to follow 
him to the humble cottage on the shore of a shining 
fiord, where around them rose high mountains so close 
as to make it impossible to see the sun, except when 
he was directly overhead ; but they had light enough 
and to spare during midsummer, when the sun shines 
in Norway not only all day, but nearly all night I did 
not go to reside with my late mistress, you understand, 
until after she had two children to brighten her little 
hut. In the meantime, her parents had died unrecon- 
ciled, her eldest brother inherited the house ; and, as if 
in mockery of her poverty, nothing fell to the poor 
woman's share but Me. 

"I remember the day she unpacked me. She was still 
sorrowing for her parents, and when she saw me, her 
wedding-day came back so vividly ! The festivals, the 
cart with the green boughs, in which he and she rode 
to the village church, the train of merry folk that fol- 
lowed them, her pride when I was set upon her flaxen 
locks, above her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes ! 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 65 

"She cried over me for a while, and when she got up 
to put me away and go back to her spinning, I saw her 
give a glance at a cheap little mirror on the dresser, 
where she saw no more roses in the cheeks reflected 
there, but a sun-burned brown instead, and hair thin 
and gray under the matron's coif. Just at this moment 
the door burst open, and in rushed two splendid romp- 
ing children. They hugged her fondly, and kissed a 
glow into her sunken cheeks, as they wondered and 
exclaimed over the wedding crown. There were no 
more tears after that. The mother's heart was full of 
peace and joy." 

" I hope you won't mind," said Regi, civilly ; " but I 
don't care so very much for what people think about, I 
like what they do, so much better. Though I like that 
mother, too," he added, apologetically. 

"Well, I ought to be old enough to know child's 
nature better," said the marriage-crown, kindly. " I 
shall try to be more entertaining. Let me tell you 
about the life those children led. There was little that 
was bright or smiling in their surroundings. The hut 
was one of a sparse settlement, almost cut off from the 
outer world in winter. In summer a few sailing ves- 
sels and steamers would plough the still waters of their 
gloomy sound. Now and again, their father sailed 
with them in his boat to barter fish for household ne- 
cessaries at the nearest village. Those were wonder- 
ful occasions, and served for conversation during the 
winter evenings while they sat carving wood, or mak- 
ing fish-nets by the fire, listening to the winds howl like 
wild beasts at bay, around their hut. On these voy- 
ages also, there was to be seen a slope here and there 
covered with verdure, and a joyful sight this was to the 
eye wearied of monotonous gray cliffs. 
5 



66 NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWNS STORY. 

"At certain seasons they had the excitement of 
searching for down in the nests of the eider-ducks. 
This down, the softest and finest in the world, was 
plucked from their own breasts by the mother birds, 
to keep their fledglings warm, and it always fetched a 
good price in the towns. Often, too, the children would 
rifle the eider nests, so prettily woven of moss and sea- 
weed, of their light-green eggs, as their mother wel- 
comed a change in her everlasting fish cookery, and could 
make many delicious dishes with the aid of eider eggs." 

"What, else did they eat?" asked Regi, who was 
always interested in the commissariat. ^ 

"A sort of flat gingerbread, for one thing, tasting 
like sawdust ; and other bread made of flour mixed with 
powdered bark of trees. Then they had good milk to 
drink, for they kept a cow ; sometimes they ate also 
dried herring, salmon roes, reindeer's meat and rein- 
deer's tongues. On their summer trips, the children 
saw whales and walruses disporting themselves, as well 
as troops of reindeer swimming across narrow bodies 
of water to reach the land beyond. But the grand 
thing was to be shut in, warm and snug, of an autumn 
evening, and listen to the cataract thundering down the 
hills, the scream of sea-birds, and the thousand voices 
of the night in clamor around their dwelling ! Then 
was the time to coax stories out of the fisherman, who 
was a rare talker when he chose to be. To tell you 
one of those legends here in this fine room would make 
it seem rather flat ; but perhaps you have never heard 
of ' Grimsbork ; ' that's a tale that'll do anywhere. And 
this is it:" 

Once upon a time there lived a youth named Jonas, 
whose entire fortune consisted of ten cows, each with a 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 67 

calf running at her heels, and a skinny little colt at 
which everybody laughed. 

One day when Jonas was tending his cattle in the 
fields, he saw a royal herald ride along the road, blow- 
ing a golden trumpet. Hastening to the roadside, he 
heard the herald proclaiming that a Troll (this, you 
must know, is a wicked mountain fairy) had just car- 
ried off the king's only daughter, and that his majesty 
had promised her hand and half the kingdom to who- 
soever should bring the poor little princess back. As 
yet, nobody h^d been found rash enough to undertake 
the exploit, for the Trolls in the neighborhood were 
very powerful, and to incur their rage and spite was a 
terrible thing. 

Jonas stood musing upon what he had heard, when 
the skinny colt came up and spoke to him. 

"I could help you, master," said the colt, " but I am 
afraid you will never be willing to do what is necessary 
first." 

" You help me ! " exclaimed Jonas, laughing. " How- 
ever, tell me what your idea is. At least it can do no 
harm." 

" If you will kill every one of these calves and let 
me have the milk of ten cows for a year, I shall grow 
strong and powerful," said the colt. " Then you will 
see what I can do toward recovering the princess." 

Jonas thought a while, then decided to kill his 
calves and sell them to the butcher. For a whole year 
the colt lived upon the milk of ten cows ; and at the 
end of that time, you would not have known him. He 
had become a large, beautifully shaped creature, with 
silver-shining sides, and bright, intelligent eyes. 

In the spring the ten cows again had calves, and 
again the colt asked Jonas to kill them and to let him 



68 NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 

have the milk. This Jonas did, and by the following 
year his colt had become so tall that his master could 
hardly reach his mane when standing on tiptoe, while 
his sides were more glossy than ever. For still another 
year Jonas fed his good steed as before, and by this 
time, Grimsbork, for so his master named him, was so 
enormous that he had to kneel down to enable Jonas to 
mount him. His color was a beautiful silver-cream ; 
his snowy mane and tail were long and crinkled ; his 
coat shone like a mirror. Never was seen such a rare 
and radiant steed as Grimsbork ! Jonas spent all the 
money he had accumulated from the sale of his calves 
in purchasing a saddle and bridle of gilded leather, 
and shoes of silver for his treasure. He mounted 
Grimsbork ; at the first canter, stones flew high in the 
air, and when he galloped, it sounded like thunder 
among the hills. 

Jonas rode straight to the king's palace, and offered 
himself to go in search of the lost maiden. At sight of 
this magnificent horse and the stripling rider, the king 
was so astonished he could hardly speak. 

" First give me stable room and quarters for the 
night," said Jonas ; " and by to-morrow w T e will set out." 

The best stall in the king's stable was given to 
Grimsbork, and the best room in the palace was as- 
signed to Jonas. In the night Jonas, who could not 
sleep, stole down into the stable and consulted Grims- 
bork. 

"We are undertaking what we can't carry out, I 
fear," the youth said, anxiously. "Who ever heard of 
any one escaping alive from the piower of the Trolls. 
In addition to losing our lives, we shall be a laughing- 
stock to the whole nation." 

" Fear nothing, master," said Grimsbork. " To- 




Jonas rode straight to the king's palace, and offered himself to 
go in search of the lost maiden." 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 69 

morrow morning, before we start, ask for twenty 
pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel to make me 
new shoes. And there must be one smith to forge, 
another to nail the shoes on." 

All was done as Grimsbork suggested. He was 
splendidly shod, and at the appointed time galloped 
away with his rider amid clouds of dust. A long way 
they rode, until they came to the Trolls' mountain, into 
which the princess had been taken. This mountain 
was as steep as a wall, and as slippery as glass. For 
miles distant you could see it, glittering like a preci- 
pice of steel. 

" Here we go ! " snorted Grimsbork, charging at the 
mountain ; but he slipped back, and came down to the 
bottom with a crash like an earthquake. " Again ! " 
he said, and succeeded in getting a little farther up, to 
slip back with such force as to jar the entire moun- 
tain. 

High up on the summit, under a dome of crystal, 
they could see the pretty princess, holding out her 
arms and begging to be delivered from the power of 
the wicked Troll. 

Grimsbork took a fresh start, and this time rushed 
up with such force, that stones flew about him up to 
the very sky. They reached the top in safety, and 
with a blow of his hoof, Grimsbork shattered the 
crystal dome into fragments. Out rushed the princess 
joyously, her eyes gleaming like stars. 

" You are my gallant deliverer," she cried, and Jonas 
lifted her to the seat behind him and hurried away, as 
by this time a hive of angry Trolls, like ants in a heap, 
came up to the surface of the mountain, threatening 
and cursing them. The ride down was fearful, as you 
may believe ; but Grimsbork kept his footing securely, 



7 o NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWNS STORY. 

and in safety reached the palace, where Jonas put the 
princess in her royal father's arms. 

Now that the king had his daughter back again, he 
was not so very anxious to give her up, so he made 
excuses. 

" I really can't give my daughter's hand in mar- 
riage," the crafty old fellow said to Jonas, " until we 
can get the sun to shine in at the palace windows on 
the east." 

Now, before the palace windows on the east arose a 
mighty mountain which cast a black shadow on all 
beneath it. Jonas told Grimsbork of his difficulty, 
and Grirrfsbork asked only for new shoes like the last, 
twenty pounds of iron and twelve of steel, with a smith 
to forge them and another to nail them on. This was 
granted, and Jonas got into the saddle. Away with a 
bound, they flew up the mountain. At every stride the 
mountain sank farther into the earth, till by the time 
they had ridden back and forth a few times, there was 
nothing left but a valley in its place. Then, when the 
sun shone gloriously into the palace windows on the 
east, Jonas asked again for his bride. 

<k You have certainly deserved her," said the wily 
king, " but you couldn't expect me to see her ride to 
church on a horse that was inferior to her bridegroom's. 
When you can fetch me a steed that will equal Grims- 
bork, she shall be yours with pleasure." 

Jonas went off dejected, for he knew there was but 
one Grimsbork. When he had communicated his 
trouble to his steed, the faithful creature paused a 
while before speaking. 

" This is a troublesome business," he answered, at last. 
"There is only one like me, and he is kept underground 
by a mighty magician. However, we can but do our 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 71 

best. Now, go to the king and ask for new shoes for 
me, exactly like the last, twenty pounds of iron and 
twelve of steel, a smith to forge them, and another 
smith to nail them on. Then ask for twelve sacks of 
rye, twelve sacks of barley, and twelve slaughtered 
oxen. Also ask for twelve ox-hides, each studded with 
a hundred spikes, and a barrel filled with tar." 

The king promised all these queer things willingly 
enough, hoping to get rid of the youth forever. Jonas 
loaded Grimsbork with the rye, and the barley, and the 
carcasses, and the hides, and the barrel filled with tar ; 
and they set off at a gallop. When they had ridden a 
long way over mountain and heath, Grimsbork asked 
Jonas what he heard. 

" Nothing but the chirping of many birds." 

" Just as I supposed. All the wild birds of the forest 
are in pursuit of us. Cut a hole in the grain sacks, and 
that will keep them busy." 

Jonas cut a hole in the sacks, and out streamed the 
rye and barley like a river on the ground. Then came 
the wild birds in such numbers as to darken the sun. 
As soon as they saw the grain, they darted down on it, 
and began fighting with each other, so that the travel- 
lers got away unnoticed. 

Over hill and dale, over forest and heath, Jonas rode. 
Then Grimsbork asked him what he heard. 

" Oh ! there is a terrible roaring noise," said Jonas. 

" Those are all the wild beasts of the forest sent to 
stop us," answered Grimsbork. " Quick, throw out 
the carcasses of your oxen, and that will keep them 
busy." As Jonas threw the oxen down, there came out 
of the woods an immense number of lions, bears, 
wolves, and hyenas with their mouths wide open. They 
fell upon the raw meat eagerly, and soon began snarl- 



72 NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 

ing and growling at each other, forgetting the object 
of their chase. 

Over hill and dale, over forest and heath, Grimsbork 
rushed like the wind. 

" Do you hear anything ? " he asked the youth. 

" It seems to me that, a long way off, I hear the 
neighing of a colt," answered Jonas. 

Over hill and dale, over forest and heath, they rushed 
onward. At every stride the neighing sounded louder, 
until it became a tremendous clamor. 

"We are coming to him now," said Grimsbork. 
" Make haste and empty the barrel of tar over this field ; 
cover me with the spiked ox-hides ; and then climb 
into yonder tall pine-tree. If I win the battle, you 
must take off my bridle and put it on my rival's neck, 
and he will become gentle like myself. If I lose — why, 
so much the worse for both of us." 

When Jonas had climbed into the tallest pine-tree, 
there came out of a cavern a cream-colored horse quite 
as beautiful as Grimsbork. But his coat shone with a 
light like phosphorus, and from his nostrils spurted 
jets of flame. The battle began at once, the new-comer 
darting upon the mysterious bundle of ox-hides, biting 
and kicking it furiously. Soon the fire from his nos- 
trils caught the sheet of tar, and he could not see where 
he was striking, for the flames. While he was losing 
strength plunging so madly, Grimsbork, sheltered by 
the spiked hides, was unhurt, and in a short time the new 
horse fell exhausted. Seeing this, Jonas slipped down 
from the tree, and threw his bridle over the captive, 
who at once became as docile as a lamb. When the two 
horses stood side by side, you could not have told them 
apart ; so Jonas saddled and rode the new one back to 
the king's palace, Grimsbork running loose beside them. 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 73 

Great was the wonder at court, over the reappear- 
ance of the champion, riding one horse and leading its 
double. The king tried to seem pleased, but in his 
heart vowed to get the better of Jonas yet. 

" Before the marriage comes off, we will have a game 
of hide-and-seek," said he. " If you can find my daugh- 
ter twice running, and if she fails to find you twice 
running, then the wedding shall go on without de- 
lay." 

" All right," said Jonas. 

The princess was first to hide ; she changed herself 
into a lily-white swan, and floated upon the castle moat. 

"Where is she, Grimsbork?" asked the youth. 

"Take your gun and level it at yonder swan, and you 
will see," answered his steed. 

" Don't shoot, it is I, your bride betrothed," cried 
the princess, when Jonas aimed at her ; and she was 
found. 

The second time she changed herself into a loaf of 
bread, and took her place among a row of four others 
that the cook had just set upon the table. 

"Where is she, Grimsbork ? " asked his master. 

"Take the long carving-knife and offer to cut a slice 
from the third loaf on the left hand, of four loaves that 
lie on the table of the royal kitchen," said his friend. 

Jonas went into the kitchen, pretending to be very 
hungry. 

" I should relish a slice of this nice warm loaf," he 
said, laying his hand on the third loaf, and brandishing 
over it a long, sharp carving-knife. 

" Don't cut, dear friend ; it is I, your bride betrothed," 
said the princess, coming forth ! 

Now it was his turn to hide twice running. First 
he changed himself into a hornet, and hid in Grims- 



74 NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWNS STORY. 

bork's right ear. When the princess, having sought 
everywhere else, came timidly into Grimsbork's stall, 
the great beast began stamping and kicking so that she 
ran away in terror. 

" 1 give it up ! " cried the princess, and at once Jonas 
came out of the stall and stood beside her. The sec- 
ond time he became a pebble, and was caught in Grims- 
bork's hoof. This time the king, the chamberlains, the 
courtiers, the pages, everybody, helped the princess 
to look for him. The last place they came to was 
Grimsbork's stall ; but the good steed set up such a 
tremendous plunging and neighing and kicking, that 
the entire court took fright and scampered a mile away 
before they could stop running. 

" I give it up ! " cried the princess, out of breath. 
At once Jonas stepped from under Grimsbork's foot, 
and made her a low bow. 

In vain did the king desire to object again, for now 
even he had to admit that Jonas had fairly won his 
bride. So she was dressed up grandly, the marriage 
crown was set upon her locks ; and, mounted upon 
their two splendid cream-colored horses, the young 
couple rode to church. Such a sight was never seen in 
that or any other country. 



" Thank you," said Regi, with a sigh of satisfaction. 
" How those fellows had to work to get their brides ? 
I'd like to own a pair of magic Grimsborks. Wouldn't 
I drive 'em in the Park though ? But there's one thing 
I want to ask you, old crown. How did you get here, 
if they set such store by you ? " 

The marriage crown sighed deeply. 

" It's a sad story," she said. " The fisherman fell ill, 




" When the princess came timidly into Grimsbork 's stall the great 
beast began stamping and kicking so that she ran away in 
terror.'''' 



NORWEGIAN WEDDING CROWN'S STORY. 75 

and the family almost starved before they would part 
with me to a funny-looking Lapp pedler who came their 
way." 

" When I go to Norway, I shall look them up, and 
give you back again," said Regi, consolingly. 



THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. 

"You ought to have a story to tell, old fellow," Regi 
said one afternoon, addressing himself to the figure of 
a Chinese mandarin with a bald, shiny head like an 
egg-shell, which it had been long one of the little boy's 
pet bits of mischief to set in motion till it threatened to 
wag off. 

A mandarin is a man of high rank in China, you 
know, and images representing him are made in por- 
celain, brilliantly decorated in gold and colors, having 
heads swung upon a pivot that nod grotesquely at a 
touch. 

" I wonder if you would feel inclined to make your- 
self agreeable to a person who had persistently played 
tricks on you ever since he was old enough to stand on 
tiptoe on the drawing-room ottomans," returned the 
mandarin. " However, I was a wedding present to 
your mother from an old friend of hers, a merchant in 
the China trade, who brought me over in his state- 
room, carefully wrapped and packed in a lacquer-box ; 
and I feel rather more entitled to a voice in this twelve- 
day carnival than any of these new-comers, so I will 
try to forgive and forget your sins against my dignity. 
Yes, we have plenty of stories in our flowery kingdom ; 
but my own taste is for the quiet ones, and I'm afraid 
I can't entertain you with anything as sensational as 
the kind of tales some of these cut-and-thrust charac- 



THE CHINESE MANDARINS STORY. 77 

ters around us delight in." Here he directed a spite- 
ful squint at a bull-fighter's sword upon the wall. 

" I never thought children in your country could 
have much fun," Regi said, thoughtfully. "They* 
always seem to be holding on to the ground to keep 
from falling off, when I have noticed them on plates 
and tea-boxes." 

" They have all the fun that is good for them," said 
the mandarin, tartly ; " the boys especially. They play 
at shuttlecock with the soles of their feet, for one thing, 
and that is certainly funny. They have Punch-and- 
Judy shows in abundance ; fireworks and torpedoes, 
paper toys, lanterns and the very best kites you ever 
heard of. In spring-time, the air is full of kites, some 
like butterflies and birds, and some like dragons, cen- 
tipedes and fishes, and others with lanterns fastened to 
their tails. Even the old grandfathers play with kites 
in China" 

" But a fellow wouldn't like to lick his grandfather 
if their tails got tangled up," Regi suggested. 

" Then the little ones, with us, have pockets full of 
sugar-candy given to them; and yards of sugar-cane to 
suck. I knew a little boy once, named Lee, whose 
little mother was a widow," went on the mandarin, in a 
rambling fashion. " They lived in a little house with 
a little garden that Lee used to cultivate — yes, every- 
thing was little. When Lee and his mother went out 
to walk together, and you looked at their backs, you 
could hardly tell which was which. When Lee flew 
his kite, his mother sat in a bamboo chair at her front 
door and flew hers, too. His was in the shape of an 
eagle, hers resembled a big green beetle. Lee's mother 
sold flowers from her garden to the richer people of 
the town where they lived, and their small square of 



78 THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. 

earth was kept as neat as a pin, with straight paths and 
mounds of artificial rock-work, with the hedges and 
trees trained to grow down instead of up, and twisted 
into all sorts of queer shapes. 

" Part of every day Lee went to school, where he sat 
close to the ground on a lacquer stool before a lacquer 
table, learning a language that would puzzle you very 
much ; for there are no A, B, C's in Chinese, every 
word having a picture or sign to itself, that represents 
it. Rather a tedious business, when you come to learn 
them all, eh ? When Lee ran home, he always found 
a nice bowl of smoking rice awaiting him, with sweet- 
meats cooked in syrup for his dessert. Then, after a 
little work in the garden, he was free to play with 
the other children of the town. When cold weather 
came, they had no fireside to gather round ; but Lee's 
mother made for him a loose wadded jacket, and 
another for herself, in which they looked like two 
walking feather-beds. 

" The spring was their beautiful time. When the red 
azalea came in bloom upon the distant hillsides, Lee's 
mother would take a holiday to go in a boat, rowing 
down the river, to a pretty spot she knew of, where 
they remained until dark, climbing over the banks 
where clover and butter-cups grew profusely, and roam- 
ing on the hilltops to gather other flowers. They would 
carry with them a luncheon of cakes and sweeties ; 
and the two ate it sitting under a bower of pink and 
red blossoms, while Lee laughed and chatted with his 
mother, as happy as a king. 

"When evening came, they got into the boat again, 
wreathing it with flowers from prow to stern, and light- 
ing two or three melon-shaped lanterns to hang about 
it. Slowly sculling their way home along the placid 




"When evening came they got in,o their boat again, wreathing 
it with flowers from prow to stern.'' 1 



THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. 79 

stream, they met or passed, or were passed by, boat- 
loads of their neighbors also going home after a day of 
pleasuring. Lights came out upon the river-banks, 
like glow-worms in the grass, and the sweet fragrance 
of many flowers was scattered on the air. To Lee, 
who lay in the bottom of the boat, crouched up against 
his mother's knee half asleep, wholly pleased, these ex- 
peditions were a source of purest joy. 

" On the day following the holiday, it was his mother's 
custom to take Lee by the hand, and walk to the tomb 
of his father, where they would scatter flowers, and talk 
about him who was gone. 

" By and by, when Lee had grown strong and vigor- 
ous, the little mother sickened. Throughout one long 
winter, he nursed her faithfully, cooked the fowl and 
the rice and the sweet cakes, under her directions, try- 
ing to amuse her and make her smile again. One 
breezy day he carried her out to the front of the house, 
and seated her in comfort, placing in her feeble hand 
the string of a new kite he had made for her amuse- 
ment. This kite resembled an owl, and it was so large 
and strong it soon rose above the others, requiring 
all Lee's strength to hold it. Then his mother smiled, 
and he was rewarded for his pains. 

" Soon, her appetite was lost entirely, and she said she 
could eat no more fowl or rice. ' If I could only taste 
a few young bamboo shoots, I think I should feel 
better,' the poor woman said, in a weak voice. Lee 
went out of the house, feeling very unhappy, since he 
knew there were no young shoots such as she coveted 
to be had at that season. He wandered afar into a bam- 
boo plantation, and searched anxiously, but not a green 
tip appeared. Quite disheartened, he shed tears over 
one of the bare stems, and as the warm drops moistened 



80 THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. 

the ground around it, a miracle was worked. The tree 
put forth fresh buds in his sight ; and with eager hands 
he plucked a quantity of them, running back to his 
mother, who ate the succulent food with relish. As 
the spring advanced, she seemed to improve, and Lee 
almost every day carried her in his arms for a walk. 
People in the town would say, ' There goes Lee, the 
faithful son ; ' and in our country, where respect to one's 
father and mother is religion itself, this was no mean 
praise, you may believe. 

" All her life long, the Another had been particularly 
nervous in a thunder-storm. When a great one came 
on, she would shiver and turn pale, and lie in her little 
bed-place until the storm was over, Lee comforting her 
as best he was able, laughing and singing to cheer her. 
One day he was out in the garden at work, not noticing 
the black clouds gathering over the sky, till a bright 
jagged flash and a terrible report of thunder threw 
him on the ground, stunned and senseless. When Lee 
came to himself, his first thought was for the invalid, 
and, staggering into the house, he called her name. 
No answer came, and, in despair, he saw her lying pale 
and still upon the couch. She had died of fright. 
Lee wrapped her in his arms, and shed hot tears over 
her cold cheeks, but she did not revive. 

" The youth buried his beloved mother near his father, 
and went back to live in the lonely little house. * Man 
cannot have a thousand years of prosperity, a flower 
cannot have a hundred days of bloom,' he said to him- 
self, repeating the old proverb. Soon he made up his 
mind to offer himself to the Emperor for a soldier ; 
and going boldly up to the palace, he beat a drum 
which stood outside, in token that he would speak with 
his majesty in person. 



THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. Si 

" « What, is this Lee, the faithful son ? ' asked the Em- 
peror, when he had heard his tale. So Lee was made 
a soldier, and as for some years the country was 
involved in a terrible war, he was continually fighting 
and marching, marching and fighting, without taking 
rest. He grew to be a great warrior in time, and the 
Tartars set a price upon his head. One night, when 
it was desirable to gain some information from the 
enemy's camp, Lee disguised himself in a deer-skin, 
with the horns sticking up, and pretended to be brows- 
ing on the cliff over the Tartar's bivouac. A soldier, 
catching sight of him in the starlight, shot an arrow 
which struck Lee's leg, and prevented him from escap- 
ing when the enemy gave chase. He was captured 
and treated very cruelly, but his life was spared, the 
Tartars carrying him off and making a slave of him in 
their own country. 

" Years afterward, when Lee had been forgotten in his 
own town (where he was believed to be long dead), 
an old man, lame and scarred and pitiful, came limp- 
ing into the place, and paused beside the paling around 
what had been Lee's garden. A few hot tears ran 
down his withered cheeks as he gazed, and a young 
woman, who was nursing her baby inside the little 
house, came out and gave him rice and fragrant tea. 
Strengthened and refreshed, the old fellow went on 
his way. It was evening before he reached the burial- 
place whither his footsteps turned. The clouds hung 
low and black, and the wind moaned, as he dragged 
himself up the steep path. Around his aged neck 
hung a garland he had woven with maimed fingers, 
of flowers of the red azalea begged from the children 
of the village. When he reached a certain humble 
tomb, the old man fell upon his knees, laying his gar- 
6 



82 THE CHINESE MANDARIN'S STORY. 

land there, and bowing his head upon his breast in 
silence. 

"Suddenly, lightning ripped through the sky, and 
thunder crashed, as the heavens loosed their fountains, 
and a great rain fell. 

" ' Do not fear, mother, Lee is here ; Lee will take care 
of you,' the old fellow cried out ; and, as of old, he tried 
to laugh and sing to cheer her fright away. When 
morning came, the neighbors found him there dead, 
and, too late, recognized Lee, their old friend and gal- 
lant soldier. By the Emperor's order, he was given a 
splendid funeral, and laid to rest beside his parents, 
having inscribed upon his tomb in golden letters : 

" ' Lee, the faithful son/ followed by a Chinese prov- 
erb, that ran as follows : ' Though the tree be a 
thousand yards high, the leaf must flutter down to the 
root.' " 



" That is rather too sad a story ! " remarked Regi, 
soberly. His eyes had the veiled look they always 
wore when anything made him think of his own 
mamma, and he wished the mandarin had told him 
something else. 



THE AUSTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE'S 
STORY. 

" Did I not hear a little boy complaining the other 
day over the hard names in his geography lesson ? " 
said a voice from the writing-table so suddenly as to 
make Regi jump, after the Chinaman had finished. 

" Yes," Regi admitted. " I said they were silly, and I 
could not see the sense of trying to remember them ; 
and Lynchy scolded me." 

"Well, I am glad I have a chance to prove to you 
that it is sometimes worth one's while to set the memory 
to work in such a matter." 

Regi, gazing curiously through the half-darkness of 
the room, saw that the voice came from a wooden 
paper-knife, beautifully carved in the likeness of an 
eagle's feather, that his brother had brought from Aus- 
tria the year before. 

" Go ahead !" he said, settling himself down comfort- 
ably into a big chair, with his scarlet stockinged legs 
hanging over one arm of it. 

"The name of my story is Kruzimiigeli ; and, first of 
all, you must learn to pronounce it," said the paper-knife. 

Regi gave a soft whistle of astonishment, but obedi- 
ently repeated the syllables, until he had, after his 
American fashion, mastered them. 

" Pretty well," said the paper-knife. " Now for the 
story part." 



84 THE A U STRIA N PA PER-KNIFF: S STORY. 

Once upon a time, there was a king who had set his 
heart upon finding himself a wife who should have night- 
black hair, and eyes like purple violets. He hunted 
the kingdom over for a maiden with this peculiar col- 
oring. In vain did the blue-eyed court ladies dye their 
hair blacker than the raven's wing ; the king only shook 
his head, crying, " Take her away ; her eyes are not 
the right shade." Then the peasant girls came before 
him ; but none suited. 

One day, a girl named Mirzl, the daughter of a poor 
charcoal-burner in the deep forest, heard some hunts- 
men, passing by, speak of the king's strange fancy. 
Running to the border of a clear spring, she looked in, 
and saw there eyes that had exactly the tint of the vio- 
lets growing around the brim. On either side her 
pretty face streamed hair in night-black waves. "If 
his majesty could see me ! " she whispered, half fright- 
ened at her own boldness. Then Mirzl sighed as she 
thought of her ragged gown and general poverty of 
aspect. 

Out of the woods, at that moment, hopped a queer lit- 
tle man, dressed in green, with a scarlet cap and feather. 

"See here, Mirzl," he said, with a grin. "I know 
what you are thinking about. What would you say if 
I offered you fine clothes and a carriage to visit the 
court in ? " 

Mirzl's eyes sparkled with delight. The dwarf led 
her for a long walk in the forest, till they reached a tree 
of enormous girth. On the bark of this tree the little 
man tapped with his forefinger, and immediately a 
door flew open, showing inside a room hung with vel- 
vet and lace, with a mirror on the wall ; and across a 
chair was thrown a magnificent gown of pure cloth of 
silver, laced with blue. Beside it lay a cap with light 



THE A USTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE ' S ST OR Y. 85 

blue plumes, and in a casket glittered a necklace, ear- 
drops, bracelets, and several stars of diamonds. 

" Try them on," said the dwarf, and he shut Mirzl 
up in the tree-room till she was ready to come out 
again, looking like a born princess, you may believe. 
Her coal-black hair hung in ringlets to the knee ; her 
skin was as fair as a lily ; and her eyes were like 
morning violets before the dew has dried from them. 

" Now haste away to the palace," said the dwarf. 

Mirzl looked puzzled. 

" How can I walk in this" she said, pointing to her 
train. " I shall stumble at every footstep, and the wet 
grass will soil my dainty silver slippers." 

" How easy it is to forget what we come from ! " 
grinned the dwarf. But, at the same time, he blew a 
whistle, and up came a chariot drawn by four fawns, 
into which he bade the astonished Mirzl step, to seat 
herself upon cushions of down. 

" Now off with you to the palace ! " cried the dwarf. 

" How can I ever thank you, kind, sir," asked the girl, 
hardly believing herself to be awake. 

" I ask one thing in return," he answered, capering 
gleefully around on the greensward. "And that is, 
that if you become the queen, you shall at the end of 
three years be able to remember my name without 
making a mistake in it, or else come back with me." 

11 That's easy enough to do," laughed the confident 
Mirzl. 

" All right, if you think so ! It's Kruzimiigeli, neither 
more nor less," he said, speaking so rapidly she could 
hardly keep up with him. While Mirzl was saying the 
name over to herself, another whistle blew, off flew the 
fleet fawns, and they never slacked speed until the pal- 
ace gates were reached. 



86 THE A U STRIA N PA PER- KNIFE ' S ST OR V. 

The king came out in person to receive the beauti- 
ful stranger, with whom he fell desperately in love at 
sight of her jet-black locks and violet eyes. Mirzl 
would not tell whence she came, and the people be- 
lieved her to be a foreign princess ; so Princess Mirzl 
she was styled, until her marriage with the sovereign a 
few days later, when she became Queen Mirzl. 

The new queen was surrounded by every comfort 
and luxury. She did not forget her father in the for- 
est, but sent him money and gifts from time to time, 
so that he was able to live in plenty, though he little 
dreamed his daughter and his king's wife were one and 
the same person. He believed his child to have wan- 
dered into the woods to be eaten by wild beasts. 

For nearly three long years all was joy and happi- 
ness at court. The queen had a splendid boy ; and 
one day, as she was playing with him in his cradle, a 
little green mouse ran across her foot. 

" Go away, you odd little creature," cried the queen, 
stamping her foot 

" I am an odd creature, since I can talk," responded 
the mouse, promptly. " I have been sent to speak but 
one word to your majesty, and that is ' Remember.' " 

" Remember what ? " screamed Mirzl, and then it 
flashed across her ! But as we all try to put away dis- 
agreeable thoughts, she seized the baby, smothered it 
with kisses, and thought no more of the horrid little 
mouse. 

A week later, as she was riding on horseback beside 
the king, a green caterpillar fell upon her neck from a 
bough overhead. 

" Take the ugly thing off me, king," she cried, shud- 
dering. 

" Never mind, I will go of my own accord," said a 



THE A U STRIA N PA PER- KNIFE » S ST OR Y. 87 

little voice in her ear. " I was sent only to bid your 
majesty ' Remember.' " 

The queen winced, and, when the king asked what 
ailed her, did not answer. But he noticed that she 
was unusually quiet and thoughtful on the ride 
home. 

A week later, when the third year was drawing to a 
close, the queen went with her maidens to walk be- 
tween alleys of roses in the garden. As she stooped 
to pluck a posy, a little green toad hopped upon her 
hand. With a start she threw aside the toad, but not 
before it too spoke to her as the mouse and the cater- 
pillar had done. 

" I am sent to bid your majesty ' Remember.' " 

This time the queen turned pale, and fell into a faint- 
ing fit. The maids of honor ran in all directions for 
water, smelling-salts, burnt feathers and the like, while 
the poor queen came gradually to herself in the arbor 
where they had placed her. 

" Oh ! miserable being that I am ! " she lamented. 
"Not a syllable can I remember of the green dwarf's 
hateful name, though I have tried and tried. Three 
days more, and the year will be complete. I shall no 
doubt be carried away from my husband and my child. 
Alas ! Alas ! " 

She wept so that the tears ran in two bright rivulets 
adown her cheeks. When the king came running up 
with the maids of honor, he comforted her by every 
means in his power, but the queen would not tell the 
cause of her sorrow. She shut herself up in the pal- 
ace ; and although the king instituted magnificent festi- 
vals in her honor, refused to go to the windows to look 
out at them. 

That night, as the king's chief forester went into the 



88 THE A U STRIA N PA PER- KNIFE ' S ST OR Y. 

woods to search for game for the royal table, he was 
pondering, as did everybody in the kingdom, over the 
extraordinary melancholy of their beloved queen. 
Suddenly, a fine buck ran by, and plunged into the 
thicket. Following it, the forester was led into a por- 
tion of the forest that seemed entirely new to him. At 
the end of a close-woven alley of vines and under- 
growth, the buck plunged, as it seemed, into the earth. 
The forester saw before him an opening, between rocks 
fringed with ferns and trailing myrtle that almost cov- 
ered them from sight. Lifting aside this natural cur- 
tain, he beheld, within, an amphitheatre of green turf, 
surrounded by walls of rock. In the middle of it, a fire 
was burning, and a pot was bubbling merrily. To feed 
the fire, a little man clad in green, wearing a scarlet 
cap and feather, was fetching sticks ; around it were 
grouped a toad, a caterpillar, and a mouse, all of a 
green color, sitting erect in an attitude of attention, 
while on the moss lay the buck, out of breath with his 
long run. 

" What news do you bring ? " asked the dwarf of the 
panting buck. 

11 1 have had to fly for my life, master," said the 
buck. "The king's forester was after me." 

" In a day or two you will have nothing to fear from 
the king," grinned the green dwarf. " For when I 
have secured queen Mirzl as my prize, it is my inten- 
tion to seal up the opening yonder, and to live here 
with her and with you, my faithful servants, for ever 
more. But quick ! What of pretty Mirzl ? Does she 
seem in better spirits, perchance ? " 

" The queen still keeps her room, and she has cried 
a fountain full," answered the buck. 

"Good," said the dwarf, who forthwith began jump- 



THE A USTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE'S STOR Y. 89 

ing over the fire and back, singing to himself the fol- 
lowing curious words. 

"The queen forgets — what luck for me 
That I am Kruzimugeli ! " 

And the toad, and the caterpillar and the mouse, sang 
in chorus : 

"The queen forgets — what luck for thee, 
That thou art Kruzimugeli." 

While the buck roiled out in a deep bass voice : 

" The queen forgets — soon shall she be 
The bride of Kruzimugeli." 

Storing this strange sight and these words carefully 
in his mind, the forester stole noiselessly away and 
tried to retrace his footsteps into the more familiar part 
of the wood. But so far had he strayed, and so thor- 
oughly had he lost the way, that for two days and 
nights, he wandered aimlessly, depending on nuts and 
berries for subsistence. The third day he came upon a 
path he knew, and made all speed for the palace, which 
he found draped in black, the king and queen sitting 
like images of woe in the council chamber and the 
courtiers gathered around them. 

Before the royal pair stood the green dwarf, and as 
the forester crept into the hall making his way to the 
back of the throne where he hid behind the queen, 
the dwarf was saying in a terrible voice : 

" For the first time I ask you, Queen Mirzl ; can you 
remember my name ? " 

The king and all the court looked anxiously at the 
queen, who was pale and trembling. 

" Is it Steffel ? " asked the queen, at last. 



9 o 



THE AUSTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE'S STORY. 



" Missed !" cried the dwarf, leaping high in the air 
for joy. 

A silence followed, and the dwarf spoke again. 

" For the second time I ask you, Queen Mirzl, can 
you remember my name ?" 

The king leaned forward, and the court seemed to 
hang upon the queen's words in reply. 

" Is it — is it Beitle ? " asked poor Mirzl, in faintest 
accents. 

" Missed again ! " shouted the dwarf, with a higher 
bound into the air. 

And now the king and the court gave every sign of 
alarm and distress ; for on the queen's third guess 
everything depended. All knew that if she failed in 
that, she was compelled to keep her pledge to the green 
dwarf, and to go back with him. 

" For the third and last time I ask you, Queen Mirzl, 
do you remember my name ?" 

There was dead silence in the hall, broken only by 
the half-suppressed sobs of the court-ladies. The king 
was as pale as death, and the queen seemed ready to 
faint. 

" Try Kruzimiigeli ; " came in a whisper from be- 
hind her chair, a whisper so low that only the queen 
could hear it. 

Instantly, a flash of memory told her that this was 
right. The blood rushed into her cheeks, and in a 
clear, firm voice, Mirzl cried out. 

"The queen remembers — thou art he 
Whose name is Kruziniiigeli ! " 

At this the dwarf gave a snort of rage, and fire flashed 
from his eyes and nostrils. With a single tremendous 
bound he dashed up into the air, and through the 



THE A USTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE 'S STOR Y. 91 

ceiling of the council-hall, leaving a breach there that 
no mason's skill could repair. 

The king and queen fell into each other's arms, and 
the courtiers cried for joy. That evening was held the 
most splendid festival ever seen, in honor of the queen's 
deliverance from the powers of evil. 



" I'm not likely to forget Kruzemiigeli," said Regi ; 
" but it seems to me there is something like that in 
Grimm. Don't you remember Rumpelstiltikin ?" 

" I don't know what you mean by Grimm," said the 
paper-knife, stiffly ; " I tell you the tale as 'twas told 
to me by a peasant near Reichenau, in Lower Austria, 
where I was carved. If I have altered it a little, it may 
be because I was so saturated with other folk-tales and 
tobacco smoke during the long months of waiting be- 
fore I was sent for sale to summer tourists, my memory 
has become confused. I can't say you are very polite 
to criticise it to my face, however." 

" I beg your pardon," cried Regi, quickly. " Don't 
think I didn't enjoy it. There's everything in the way 
of telling, you know." 

" Well, there's another — a short story I heard my 
master's wife tell once which you may fancy," replied 
the paper-knife, in a more pleasant tone. " It is called 
the Three Caskets, and is about a girl named Anna 
Maria. This too, belongs to our part of the world, 
and is told by the peasant women to their children, in 
order to make them behave with civility to strangers." 



One day Anna Maria was sent by her mother to 
fetch water from a spring. On the road she met an 



9 2 THE A USTRIAN PAPER-KNIFE ' S STOP Y. 

old beggar who asked her for food and drink. Anna 
Maria took from her pocket a good bit of brown bread 
that was to serve for her midday meal, and gave him 
the larger share, together with a drink of sparkling 
water from her jug. 

" I am going on a long journey," said the old man, 
" and am very tired of carrying these three heavy 
caskets you see strapped upon my back. I have re- 
solved to leave them with you, and if, at the end of 
three years I shall not have claimed them again, you 
may keep what you find within. But beware of open- 
ing them before three years are out." 

Unstrapping his burden, he laid three plain wooden 
boxes on the grass at Anna Maria's feet ; and while the 
girl was still wondering, he disappeared, walking as 
lightly as a youth of twenty. 

Anna Maria hid the caskets under a rubbish heap in 
the granary, so much afraid was she of yielding to the 
temptation of opening them then and there. At the 
end of a year, her parents died, and she was thrown 
upon the cold charity of strangers. A peasant took 
their house, and his wife retained Anna Maria as a sort 
of drudge. Morning and night found her hard at work, 
scrubbing, dusting, cooking, milking, churning, digging 
in the garden patch, and feeding the cattle. Two years 
later, you would hardly have recognized poor Anna 
Maria, so old and bent and miserable she looked. In 
vain she begged the peasant and his wife to set her free. 
She had been bound to them by law for five years, and 
they found their drudge too useful to part with. 

"Go to your spinning," cried the angry woman. 
"And when you can spin me a thread as fine as a cob- 
web, and made of purest silver, then I will set you free, 
and not before." 



THE A USTRIAN PA PER- KNIFE >S STOP Y. 93 

It now occurred to Anna Maria, that the three years 
set by the old man had passed away without his coming 
to claim his property. So one day she climbed up 
the ladder into the granary, and uncovered the three 
boxes, by this time an inch deep in dust. When she 
opened the first casket, oh joy! there lay a skein of 
pure silver thread, hundreds of yards long, and finer 
than a cobweb. She seized the pretty, glistening 
thing, and ran with it to her mistress. 

" See what I have brought you to buy my freedom 
with," she cried, a ray of hope shining in her dim 
eyes. 

Her mistress snatched the skein with eager fingers, 
while her covetous spirit whispered : "Keep the girl, 
for she may prove a mine of wealth to you." 

" Not till you have woven me a web of linen, fifty 
ells broad, that may be passed through my wedding 
ring," said the spiteful dame, and poor Anna Maria re- 
tired weeping to her work. 

Next day she opened the second casket, to find there 
a garment of linen, finer than was ever dreamed of by 
the queen's wardrobe women. With trembling hands, 
she bore it to her mistress, who passed it through her 
wedding ring with ease. 

" Never will I set you free, girl," exclaimed the 
woman, " until you build me a castle of glass that shall 
reach the highest tree top in the forest." 

She then beat Anna Maria and sent her away crying, 
determining in her wicked heart to hold on to her, 
hoping to secure untold riches through the poor child's 
agency. 

Anna Maria went into the granary, fully resolved to 
run away, as it was of no use to bestow upon her mis- 
tress the contents of the third box, whatever they 



94 THE A U STRIA N PA PER-KNIFE ' 5 ST OR Y. 

might prove to be. To satisfy herself, however, she 
carried the box out into the wood, and, in a secluded 
glen, opened the lid to peep in. Out came a dome of 
glass like a soap bubble, rising into the air, till at 
length a complete castle of glass, higher than the 
highest tree top, stood before her. The mistress, who, 
suspecting mischief, had followed Anna Maria into 
the woods, now rushed from behind a tree. Nothing 
would content her but to go up the castle stairs ; and, 
bidding the girl stay below, she climbed the shining 
staircase to the crystal dome on top. Here her foot 
slipped and she fell through an open window to the 
ground below, breaking her neck and dying instantly. 

When she saw that her mistress did not return, Anna 
Maria resolved herself to mount the stairway. Higher, 
higher she went, and at the very summit she met a 
beautiful young prince in white and silver, who took 
her by the hand. 

" I am the old traveller you helped," he said ; "and 
I have waited all this time to test your fidelity to a 
promise. Now shall you be my bride, and this castle 
and its contents are your own." 

He touched Anna Maria with his right forefinger, 
and immediately her youthful beauty came back, while 
her rags and tatters were transformed into splendid 
raiment. They were married at once, and lived in the 
crystal castle for many years, in perfect love and 
peace. 



" You are something like a paper-knife ! " Regi said, 
and the paper-knife agreed with him. 




u Out came a dome of glass like a soap-bubble, rising into the 
air." 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH 
DISH. 

In a dusky corner of the room, upon a curtain of 
antique tapestry, hung a queer basin-shaped dish, made 
of rude pottery and decorated with grotesque birds 
and figures of a lustrous copper tint. 

"Well, if I couldn't draw a better bird than that," 
pondered Regi, gazing up at it, " I'd sell out. It's 
regular scribbling, that's what it is." 

" You are an ignorant little boy," stiffly remarked the 
dish; " I would have you to know, sir, that I was secured 
by your father not long since, at a very high price, as 
a genuine specimen of Hispano-Moresco faience " 

" Say ! Talk something a fellow can understand, 
won't you ? " shouted Regi. 

The pretentious old plaque shuddered until it might 
have cracked, but for the folds of tapestry supporting it. 

" I am supposed to be the work of the ancient 
Moors of Spain," it resumed presently. " My glaze, 
as any one who knows can tell, marks me as belonging 
to the fifteenth century. I am an interesting relic of a 
race of people, now scattered and passed away, but 
who once reigned with royal splendor among the 
nations of Europe, and the earth. In a.d. 756, Abd-er- 
Rhama having expelled his Mohamedan predecessors, 
established his " 

" Gracious ! it's just like a history-lesson," exclaimed 
Regi, gloomily. " Please, won't you skip dates and all 



96 THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH 

that ? Just say where you came from, and hurry up 
with the story." 

" It is plain to see that I am throwing away my 
efforts," replied the affronted dish, glowering darkly. 
" All the treasures of my experience scorned by a 
vulgar little boy ! This is what comes of condescend- 
ing to live in the house of an upstart American, a man 
of yesterday, — I — whose birthplace was among kings." 

"Well, if it comes to calling names," returned Regi, 
" only to-day, I heard papa / tell Fred that you are 
very doubtful and cannot be relied upon. And Fred 
said, that, though you are a showy old thing, you began 
life by being nothing better than a barber's basin in a 
little Spanish town " 

The plaque's face burnt up at this, so as to make an 
illumination on the wall. It was really quite gorgeous 
to behold. After a discreet silence, during which Regi 
had a quiet giggle to himself, the dish spoke again, in 
a more amiable voice. 

" I lived in Granada, near the Alhambra, which, as 
you no doubt know, is a palace of the old Moorish 
sovereigns of Spain. In that part of the world, every 
breeze that blows after sunset brings a story to the ear, 
and there is a tradition for almost every stone of the 
streets and court-yards." 

" Come, now, that's something like," cried Regi, 
sitting up, attentive. 

"Well, I will tell you one of those stories." 



At the entrance of a certain vaulted passage-way 
of the Alhambra, stand two statues of nymphs in pure 
white marble, their eyes turned in the same direction, 
looking within the vault. The story I am going to tell 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 97 

you relates to these statues, and to the fortunes of a 
merry little gardener, who worked in the grounds of 
the Alhambra. His name was Lope Sanchez. He had 
for a wife a strapping buxom dame, who could almost 
have put him in her pocket ; and they rejoiced in a 
pretty little dark-eyed daughter called Sanchica. San- 
chica ran about the palace and gardens like a young 
fawn, and in the evening danced boleros and fan- 
dangos to the tunes of her father's guitar. 

Once, on the eve of St. John, when bonfires were 
kindled around the neighboring mountain tops, and 
the moon shone silver-bright upon the scene, Sanchica, 
gathering pebbles in the ruin of an old Moorish fort 
near by, found a tiny hand curiously carved, of jet, and 
ran at once to show her prize to her mother. An old 
soldier who had served in Africa and knew all about 
the Moors, now drew near, and informed them that the 
hand was undoubtedly a talisman that would bring 
good luck to the Sanchez family. So, much delighted, 
Sanchica's mother tied the hand of jet to a ribbon, and 
hung it around her child's neck. 

Soon after, Sanchica wandered off, and found herself 
in the neighborhood of a pit, about which many strange 
stories had been told. The country people believed it 
to be haunted by hobgoblins ; and not for all the money 
in Granada could one of them have been induced to 
peep into this pit after nightfall. Sanchica was a fear- 
less little thing, and boldly she ventured to the edge 
and looked in. All below was black as pitch, and no 
man could tell how deep it was. Sanchica shuddered, 
but, gaining courage, rolled a large stone and pushed 
it over the brink. For some time she heard nothing, 
then came a noise like thunder, and a mighty splash 
far, far beneath ; then all again was silent. 
7 



98 THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 

Suddenly arose a murmuring sound like the distant 
hum of bees. This grew louder and louder, there was 
a confusion of voices as of an awakening multitude, 
together with the din of arms, the clash of cymbals and 
clang of trumpets. It was as if an army were about to 
issue from beneath the mountain. 

Terrified, Sanchica turned to fly ; but alas ! she had 
lost her way. For a time she wandered about under 
the trees ; and, at last, sitting down to rest, she heard 
the bell from the watch-tower of the Alhambra toll 
midnight. Immediately there issued from the moun- 
tain side a glittering train of Moorish warriors. Some 
were armed with lances and shields, others with scimi- 
tars and battle-axes. Their horses pranced proudly, 
but not a sound was heard. It was as if they had been 
shod with felt. Among the soldiers rode a beautiful 
lady with a crown set upon her long golden locks. 
The housings of her horse were of crimson velvet em- 
broidered with gold. She was pale as death, and her 
eyes were never lifted from the ground. 

After her rode a train of splendidly dressed courtiers. 
Among them, on a magnificent cream-colored horse, 
was the King Boabdil el Chico, dressed in a royal 
mantle covered with jewels, and wearing a crown 
sparkling with diamonds. Sanchica well knew him 
for this famous king, for many a time she had looked 
at his portrait in the gallery of the Generalife. 

Holding with one hand her sacred talisman, the little 
girl arose and followed the beautiful procession. It 
passed on to the great gate of Justice, which, to her sur- 
prise, stood wide open. Sanchica would have gone 
further, but just here she saw an opening in the earth 
beneath the foundations of the tower. Something 
tempted her to enter for a little distance, and presently 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 99 

she found steps, hewn from the rock, leading into a 
vaulted passage lit by silver lamps. Venturing on, she 
came at last to a grand hall, hollowed out of the very- 
centre of the mountain, splendidly furnished in the old 
Moorish style, and lighted by lamps of silver and 
crystal. Here, on an ottoman, dozed an old Moor with 
a long white beard, and at a little distance from him sat 
a beautiful damsel, her hair worn under a coronet of 
sparkling diamonds, and her jewelled fingers playing 
upon a silver lute. 

At sight of Sanchica, the lady started with surprise. 

" Is it the eve of the blessed St. John ?" she asked. 

" It is," answered Sanchica, timidly. 

" Then for one night, the powers of magic cannot 
harm. Come here, my child, and touch my fetters 
with the talisman that hangs around your neck, and for 
a time I shall be free." 

So saying, she showed the little maiden where she 
was chained to the rock by a heavy chain of gold. 
Sanchica quickly touched the links with her talisman 
and they fell to the ground. At sound of the falling 
chain, the old magician started up, but, running her 
fingers over the silver lute, the lady soon lulled him to 
sleep again. 

" Touch his staff with your talisman," directed the 
lady ; and when Sanchica obeyed, the old man slum- 
bered heavily. 

" Now follow me, my child," said the lady, " and you 
shall see the Alhambra as it was in the days of all its 
glory." 

Following her guide, Sanchica saw many a sight that 
filled her with astonishment and delight. The courts of 
the palace were filled with Moorish soldiers, horse and 
foot ; and at the doors were splendid guards, with rows 



ioo THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 

upon rows of African blacks with drawn scimitars. 
Could this be the old ruined palace in whose gardens 
Sanchica had grown up, playing and romping fearlessly ? 
Instead of cobwebs on the stained walls, there now hung 
rich silks of Damascus, and the ceilings were gay with 
gilded ornaments. The once bare halls and rooms 
were filled with furniture of the rarest sort, divans and 
ottomans embroidered with pearls and gems. All the 
fountains in the courts and gardens were shooting up 
jets of water ; the kitchens were in full blast ; cooks 
were busy roasting pullets and partridges ; servants 
hurried to and fro with silver dishes heaped with 
dainties. Tables w T ere set with a delicious banquet. 
Within the hall of Judgment, King Boabdil sat again 
upon his throne, that for so many centuries had been 
empty. Little Sanchica could hardly believe her eyes, 
but she said not a word until the lady stopped at a 
portal where stood two statues of nymphs commanding 
silence. 

" Here, child," whispered the enchanted lady, "look 
at the spot where the eyes of both these statues gaze, 
and tell your father that, if he searches there for treas- 
ure, he will find what will make him the richest man in 
all Granada. But tell him that, by your innocent hands 
alone, holding your talisman, can the treasure be 
moved. And now my hour is come. I must return to 
enchantment. Do not follow me, lest harm come to 
you. Only remember, that part of the gold you find 
must be spent in saying daily masses for my deliver- 
ance from this unholy spell." 

So saying, the lady plucked a branch of myrtle from 
a bush growing in the courtyard near by, and, stooping, 
wreathed with it Sanchica's hair. At that moment a 
cock was heard crowing far away in the valley, and a 




So 



saying, the lady plucked a branch of myrtle from a bush: 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH 101 

streak of rosy light appeared above the mountains to 
the east. A wind arose, and there was a sound as if 
dry leaves were rustling through courts and corridors. 
Sanchica found herself outside the palace in the path 
to her own home. Soon she had regained her humble 
cottage ; and, creeping unnoticed into bed, she hid the 
myrtle wreath beneath her pillow and fell asleep to 
dream of many wonders. 

Next day, when Lope Sanchez was at work in the 
garden, Sanchica told him the story of her adventures, 
to be heartily laughed at, in return. Not a word of it 
would her father believe, till she came running out to 
him in triumph with the myrtle wreath in hand ; but 
lo ! every leaf of it was a sparkling emerald, and the 
stalk was of purest gold ! 

At this, Lope Sanchez became greatly excited ; and 
together he and Sanchica repaired to the hall of the 
statues. Observing that the eyes of both nymphs were 
fixed on the same spot in the inside of the hall, San- 
chez drew a line from the eyes of the statues to the 
point of regard, and made a private mark upon the 
wall before going away. 

Late that night, when there was no one to espy them, 
Lope Sanchez and Sanchica returned to the hall of 
statues. Setting to work to open the wall at the spot 
he had marked, the little man soon brought to view a 
concealed niche where stood two great porcelain jars. 
Attempting to draw them forth, he found that they 
could not be moved ; but when Sanchica touched them 
with her talisman they became light as feathers, al- 
though filled to the brim with pieces of Moorish gold, 
mingled with jewels and precious stones. Before day- 
light, he had managed to restore the wall to its original 
appearance, and to convey his treasure home in safety. 



102 THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 

And now, Lope Sanchez was filled with anxiety as to 
how he should take care of his treasure. One thing 
was certain, nobody should be taken into his confi- 
dence, except his faithful wife. When Dame Sanchez 
heard the news, she nearly went out of her wits for joy. 
Certainly, it was hardly worth her husband's while to 
warn her not to tell anybody ! Who ever heard of her 
repeating a secret confided to her charge ? But while 
these good people were rejoicing in their fortune, 
Dame Sanchez received a visit from her father con- 
fessor, Fray Simon ; and, as in Spain a woman hides 
nothing from her confessor, this good man was soon in- 
formed of the family event. 

The friar opened his eyes and mouth in astonish- 
ment. Ere long, he convinced the poor woman that 
her husband had committed a double sin in what he 
had done : first, in helping himself to a treasure that 
should by rights have gone to the king, and secondly, 
by giving none of it to the holy Church. However, 
the matter might be accommodated. Let Dame San- 
chez fetch the myrtle wreath for him to see. 

Ah ! how the friar's eyes sparkled with joy. He 
knew the value of the emeralds, and he desired above 
all things to have the glory of laying this treasure be- 
fore the shrine of his chapel. So he told the woman 
that her husband should be pardoned only in considera- 
tion of giving this offering to the Church. The good 
dame, ea^er to shelter her husband, consented, and 
the friar, tucking the wreath under his mantle, took 
his leave. 

When Lope Sanchez came home and heard what had 
passed, he was very angry, telling his wife she had put 
all their wealth in danger by her tattling. However, 
the mischief was done, and next day, while Lope San- 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 103 

chez was at his work, back came Fray Simon with a 
very long face. 

"What is the matter?" cried the dame. 

" Ah ! daughter, I am sorry to tell that the Church 
is not satisfied with a little paltry wreath," said he. 
"We must have a purse full of Moorish gold pieces 
too, before your husband's sin can be forgiven." 

"Is that all?" cried the dame, much relieved. So 
she ran and filled a leather purse with gold and slipped 
it into the friar's itching palm. Next day and the next 
back came the friar, each time demanding more, till 
Lope Sanchez made up his mind that the only way to 
keep his treasure was to run away with it, taking his 
family and removing to a distant part of the country, 
where he might enjoy life unobserved by friars. 

For this purpose, he secured a stout mule and a pack- 
saddle large enough to hold all his gold and jewels. 
In order that no one might suspect him, the mule was 
hidden in one of the underground vaults of the palace, 
where most people were afraid to go, through fear of 
the goblin horse, Belludo, whom they all believed to 
haunt the spot. No one had ever seen Belludo, but 
the story went that any mortal attempting to get a ride 
upon his back would be dashed to pieces in the effort. 
Lope Sanchez took care to tie his pack-mule laden with 
treasure in the very stall said to be haunted by Belludo, 
well knowing that any prying person who chanced to 
see it there would keep at a respectful distance. 

Now, it came to pass that on the evening of the night 
when Lope Sanchez proposed to escape with his wife 
and child and treasure, poor Dame Sanchez could not 
rest in peace without confiding to her confessor the 
secret of the intended flight. With many groans and 
tears at thought of betraying her husband's cher- 



104 THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 

ished schemes, she revealed all to Fray Simon, who 
gave her his blessing in short order, and went off to 
meditate. 

That a prize like this should escape the Mother- 
Church, was a thing not to be thought of ! Fray Simon, 
though not without qualms of fear at the idea of a pos- 
sible meeting with the terrible goblin steed, resolved to 
visit the vaults himself, before the hour fixed for Lope 
Sanchez to depart. An hour before midnight, the 
worthy friar stole into the vaults, crept up to the stall 
where Dame Sanchez had told him the pack-mule was 
to be found, and, summoning all his courage, jumped 
astride a steed who stood, as'it were, patiently awaiting 
a rider. 

What was Fray Simon's astonishment when the steed, 
laying back his ears with an angry neigh, bounded out 
of the stall with the speed of the wind and was off in a 
mad gallop across the country-side. Up hill, down dale, 
rearing, kicking, plunging, now bounding as high as 
a house, now plunging forward till the friar lay flat 
upon his mane, the furious beast rushed on. All 
through the livelong night, until cock-crow gave the 
signal of returning day, the friar was jolted and 
pounded and torn with briars, till he ached in every bone 
of his respectable body. Just when the first streak of 
daylight appeared in the sky, the goblin steed kicked 
up his heels, sent the friar a somersault through the 
air, then plunged into the dark vault beneath the pal- 
ace, and was seen no more. No doubt of it, Fray Simon 
had been riding the terrible Belludo ! 

Scarcely able to crawl home, the poor man reached 
his cell. His first care was to search for the myrtle 
wreath and purses of gold pieces, coaxed from Dame 
Sanchez. What was his dismay at finding the wreath 



THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 105 

turned to a withered branch of myrtle, the leathern 
pouches filled with sand and gravel ! 

The same night that this exciting adventure befell 
Fray Simon, Lope Sanchez, his wife and Sanchica dis- 
appeared. Nothing was heard of them for a long time 
afterward, or until an old friend of Sanchez, happen- 
ing to be at Malaga, was nearly run over by a coach- 
and-six. The carriage stopped. Out of it jumped a 
little old gentleman round as a barrel, and magnifi- 
cently dressed. Who should this prove to be but Lope 
Sanchez, and he was in the act of celebrating the mar- 
riage of Sanchica to one of the grandees of the land. 

The carriage contained the bridal party. There was 
Dame Sanchez, as round as her husband, and dressed 
out with feathers and jewels, and necklaces of pearls 
and diamonds, and a ring for every finger ; while San- 
chica, grown to be a beautiful young woman, sat beside 
her bridegroom — smiling sweetly. 

When Lope Sanchez recognized his old comrade in 
the man he had so nearly run over, he loaded him with 
presents and with kindnesses, and sent him home re- 
joicing, with a bag of money for himself and another 
for his ancient mess-mates of the Alhambra. It was 
given out that Lope had inherited his money from a 
rich brother, who had died in America, leaving him a 
copper mine. But to this day, the gossips of the Al- 
hambra insist that Lope was the discoverer of the treas- 
ure so long guarded by the two marble nymphs. As to 
Fray Simon, no one could ever get him to say much on the 
subject of his midnight ride on the goblin steed Belludo. 



"Well, really," said Regi, in an admiring tone, "you 
have told a splendid story after all, old dish ; and I'm 



106 THE STORY OF THE MOORISH DISH. 

sorry I was so cross about it. I don't believe there's 
any fellow that could beat you telling stories." 

"There is one," said the dish, evidently flattered. 
" He, in fact, may go so far as to lay claim to having first 
introduced this legend to the world of book-readers. 
But, of course, when you are helped by spirits — and I 
don't suppose anybody will deny that Irving was a 
wizard — the advantage is naturally on his side." 

" I wish you could tell me another Spanish tale," 
said Regi, "but I suppose it's against the rule." 

" I can," said a voice from the wall. Regi looked up. 
Under the gold encrusted jacket of a Spanish bull- 
fighter, hung a short sword with a richly inlaid handle 
of shell and metal. 



THE STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S 
SWORD. 

" If you are going to tell me about the bulls goring 
those poor horses, or about the men stabbing those 
poor Dulls, I don't believe I should fancy it," said Regi, 
doubtfully. 

" It is only in our own country that they know how 
to appreciate our — ahem ! profession," returned the 
sword, in a cutting tone. " Why, my young friend, in 
Madrid, I and my master were the idols of the popu- 
lace. When we appeared in public, we created more 
of a sensation than does the king himself. And yet we 
were not proud. At home, now, in his own cottage in 
the suburbs, my master was the jolliest fellow in the 
world. With his pockets always full of money and his 
breast covered with decorations, he would sit talking 
in a friendly way with any street lounger who might 
choose to drop in upon him. No ! the story I bethought 
me of had no reference to our glorious national sport. 
I heard it from the lips of a blind beggar, to whom my 
master gave a handful of silver once, if he would make 
an idle hour pass pleasantly for a group of merry 
fellows. It was this : " 



In a hut by the sea lived a cobbler, whose customers 
dropped one by one away from him, while his neighbor, 



108 STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 

the fisherman, drove a thriving trade. " I'll not stand 
this," says the cobbler, who forthwith spends his last 
penny on a net, and sets out for the water-side, de- 
termined to try his luck. Three times did he cast his 
net, and three times, as if in mockery, he drew in 
nothing but old boots and shoes. 

"I'll cast a fourth time," said he, "and if I catch 
nothing, I shall go and hang myself." A fourth time 
he cast, and in a little while his net felt heavy. Full 
of hope, he hauled it in. To his joy, there lay a fine 
fish shining like silver in the meshes. 

"Take me home," said the fish, "cut me in six 
pieces, stew me with salt and pepper, cinnamon, cloves, 
laurel leaves and mint. When I have come to a gentle 
simmer, give two pieces to your wife, two to your mare, 
and plant the other two in your garden. If luck don't 
come of it, I shall be very much surprised." 

The cobbler obeyed directions, and what should 
happen but that his wife soon presented him with two 
beautiful sons, his mare had two fine colts, and out of 
his garden there sprang two tall plants that bore, in- 
stead of fruit, two shields, showing each a silver fish 
upon an azure ground. 

In six months time, the boys had grown to be stal- 
wart knights ; and, mounted upon the colts, now superb 
war horses, they determined to seek their fortunes, 
carrying the shields upon their arms, and with lances 
in their hands. Embracing each other affectionately, 
one took his way toward the East, the other to the 
West. 

" Don't expect to see us again till we have won fame 
and fortune," were their parting words to their parents, 
who stood and looked after them with pride, as the two 
knights galloped off. 



STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 109 

After travelling for some days across the country, 
the first knight reached Madrid, where he found the 
whole city plunged in grief. Everybody was shedding 
tears enough to swell the current of the beautiful river, 
and, on asking the cause of such sorrow, the youth was 
told that every year a fiery dragon came to carry off 
one of their fairest maidens. This year, the lot had 
fallen upon the king's own daughter, the sweetest and 
loveliest princess that ever was heard of, and the darl- 
ing of the people. 

" And where is the princess, now ? " asked the knight, 
at once fired with zeal to rescue her. 

" Oh ! she is already on the fatal spot, awaiting the 
monster," cried the people. " It is beneath an olive- 
tree, about a league from the town on the western 
road. Ride fast, good knight, and Heaven speed 
you ! " 

When the youth came in sight of the olive-tree, he 
saw the princess sitting beneath it, bathed in tears and 
trembling from head to foot. She was the prettiest 
creature he had ever looked upon, with cheeks like 
pomegranates, and locks of jet. Her robe was of 
cloth-of-gold that sparkled at a distance, and around 
her waist she wore a girdle of diamonds each as large 
as a chestnut. 

" Fly, rash knight ! " cried the princess, when she 
espied him. " I am instantly expecting the dragon ; 
and if he sees you, you must die." 

" I fear him not, fair lady," said the knight of the 
silver fish, " for I have come to save you." 

" To save me ! That is impossible ! " 

" We shall see ! " answered the gallant knight ; and, 
reversing his shield, he displayed a surface brighter 
than any glass mirror. This he fastened to the trunk 



no STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD, 

of the tree against which the princess leant, covering 
it with her veil. 

" When the dragon draws near," he told her, " spring 
behind the shield, and draw the veil away from it. The 
rest leave to me and to my trusty lance." 

The knight hid himself, and the princess did as she 
was bid. Presently, up came the dragon, his scales 
rattling, his eyes flashing real fire, his nostrils breath- 
ing steam. Just as he was prepared to dart upon the 
lady, she slipped behind the shield and whisked away 
her veil from its brilliant surface. What was the as- 
tonishment of the dragon ? He saw, as he supposed, 
another monster exactly like himself. 

" What other dragon has had the audacity to come 
after my princess ? " he roared in a furious voice, at 
once attacking his image, tooth and claw. As far as 
he could see, his enemy fought as well as himself. 
When he opened his eyes to shoot forth fire, the enemy 
did likewise. When he gnashed his horrible teeth, the 
other dragon did the same. Enraged at being thus 
mocked, the distracted beast dashed his head with all 
his might against his enemy, shivering the polished 
steel to fragments. But now, instead of one opponent, 
he saw a dozen. Every broken piece of the shield re- 
flected a separate monster. Terrified out of his wits, he 
crouched panting on the ground, and the knight spring- 
ing upon him from behind the tree, drove his lance 
through the creature's brain, killing him upon the spot. 

You may imagine the delight of the good people of 
Madrid when they saw the knight of the silver fish 
ride back into their city, bearing behind him, her lovely 
arms clasped round his waist, their beloved princess, 
safe and well, and dragging at his saddle-bow the 
bloody carcass of their enemy the dragon. 




Terrified out of his wits, he crouched panting on the ground.' 



STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. in 

The king received the young couple with rapture, 
and immediately rewarded the knight by bestowing on 
him his daughter's hand in marriage. For a week, the 
city of Madrid was as remarkable for gayety as it had 
formerly been for sorrow. All day there were shows 
and bull-fights, and all night the people danced in the 
moonlight, over streets strewn with flowers, to the 
music of guitar and castanets. The Prince, as he was 
now styled, was perfectly happy. 

About a week after the marriage, he went with his 
wife upon the highest battlement of the palace to view 
the surrounding landscape. 

" What is that lonely-looking castle I see far away in 
the distance yonder ? " asked the Prince. 

" Don't look in that direction, pray ! " cried the prin- 
cess ; " or you will be wanting to run again into dan- 
ger. In that castle enchantment reigns supreme. No 
one who was ever rash enough to go there, has returned 
again. I beseech you turn away, and let us talk of 
something pleasanter." 

The Prince appeared to think no more about it, but 
his ambition to solve the mystery hanging around the 
lonely castle grew every day more strong. At last, 
rising early one morning, he spurred his horse in the 
direction of the spot all others chose to avoid. 

The castle stood upon frowning rocks, and a more 
gloomy place could not be pictured. Not a sign of 
life was at door or window. The silence of death hung 
over it. At the portal was a horn, over the mouth of which 
cobwebs had formed. Seizing this, the Prince blew a 
lusty blast. Immediately, there arose echoes coming from 
every part of the castle and sounding like mournful voices. 

" Open the door to a knight who has come your 
way," he shouted. 



112 STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 

"Away ! away ! away ! " warned the echoes. 

" This is a hospitable welcome," said the Prince 
" But threaten as you will, I'm determined to get inside. 
Do you hear what I cry ?" 

"Ay ! ay ! ay ! " answered the echoes. 

" Then send somebody to open this door, be it serv- 
ing man or lass." 

"Alas ! alas ! alas ! " cried the echoes. 

The Prince struck impatiently upon the portal with 
his spear. Thereupon the portcullis was raised, and 
under it appeared the face of a hideous old crone. 

"What do you want, impudence ? " cried she, in a 
cracked voice. 

" I want to come in," answered the Prince. "Will 
you give me refreshment and house-room while I rest 
after my journey ? Answer yes or no." 

" No, no, no," warned the echoes. 

The crone said nothing, but after a short time, smiled 
a malicious smile, inviting the youth to enter by a 
nod. * 

" Then you have made up your mind to be hospit- 
able ? " said the Prince, pleasantly. 

"Never fear but you shall fare well," answered she. 

" Farewell, farewell, farewell," sighed the echoes. 

" Might I ask your name, madam ?" pursued the 
Prince, as he followed his hostess within. 

By this time they were out of hearing of the alarm- 
ing echoes, whose mournful wail " farewell " had de- 
pressed him more than he chose to allow even to him- 
self. The crone grinned an affectionate smile which 
was even more horrible than her frown, as she locked 
and barred the portal after him. 

*I am the Duchess Serpentosa," she said ; "and you 
have come just in time to be my twenty-fourth hus- 



STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 113 

band. Somehow or other the air of this castle does 
not agree with my husbands, but luckily travellers are 
not lacking, now and then." 

"Never will I be your husband, dame," said the 
Prince, stoutly, thinking of his pretty young wife at 
home, who was even now expecting him. " And what 
is more, I call on you to surrender the people I believe 
you have unjustly imprisoned here." 

The Duchess Serpentosa's eyes flashed angrily, but 
muttering something between her teeth, she invited the 
Prince to walk around the castle, and see for himself 
what it contained. Deceived by her apparent submis- 
sion, the Prince followed. When they had visited 
many rich and splendid rooms where nobody was 
found within, they came to a narrow passage leading 
to the rear of the castle. 

" Do you pass before me, Prince," said wily Ser- 
pentosa. " The way is a trifle dark here, and I am 
afraid of stumbling." 

The Prince, suspecting nothing, led the way. As he 
put his foot upon an iron grating it gave way, plunging 
him into a deep abyss, where, in a damp and noisome 
vault underground, he found many other gallant 
knights and noblemen, whose voices were the warning 
echoes he had heard. In this cruel way, the Duchess 
Serpentosa had punished every one of these cavaliers, 
each of whom in turn had despised her offer of her 
hand. Every day bread and water enough to keep 
them alive were lowered by a cord ; and most of the 
time she amused herself by taunting them from the 
brink of their living tomb. 

" If you had married me, you might have had your 
share of this fun, Prince," she said mockingly, from 
above. " Stay there, now, until you waste to a skele- 
8 



U4 STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 

ton. You shall never see your pretty bride again, I'll 
promise you." 

We will now leave this sad scene for a while to see 
what became of the second knight of the silver fish. 
After parting from his brother, he rode throughout the 
country, doing many valiant deeds, and winning great 
renown for himself, until he finally arrived at the gates 
of the city of Madrid. 

Here he found guards in waiting, who, saluting him 
respectfully as their prince, informed him that scouts 
had been out searching for him night and day since his 
disappearance, and that the poor princess was nearly 
distracted at his absence. 

" For whom do they mistake me ? " said the knight 
of the silver fish. " Surely, it can be for no one but 
my brother, who resembles me so exactly that our own 
mother does not know us apart. Well ! I shall keep my 
own counsel, and perhaps I may in this way be able to 
arrive at a scheme for restoring my lost brother to his 
bride." 

So he let himself be welcomed as the prince, and no 
one knew the difference until he came to the room 
where the princess was awaiting him with open arms. 
Just as she was about to embrace him fondly, she 
looked earnestly into his eyes and, faltering, whis- 
pered : 

" I am deceived. You are not my husband." 

As they were alone, he promptly told her all, and 
vowed that he would restore his brother or perish in 
the attempt. 

" There is no hope," said the weeping princess. 
" Your brother is a peerless knight, and if he has fallen 
into the power of that wicked Serpentosa, no man can 
escape her." 



STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 115 

But the knight bid her be of good cheer, and at 
once set out for the enchanted castle. He was received, 
like his brother, by mournful warnings from the echoes ; 
and presently, vizor-down, he stood in the presence of 
the wicked Serpentosa. 

" Who are you ? Show me your face ! " said the 
witch. 

The knight lifted his vizor, and the hag gave a scream 
of terror. She believed him to be her latest victim, 
escaped from captivity in the vault where she had cast 
him. 

" How came you here again ? " she faltered. " Can 
it be that my spells have lost their power ? " 

" As surely as that your end has come, you foul sor- 
ceress ! " exclaimed the knight, lifting his lance, and 
piercing her to the heart. As witches, like snakes, 
cannot die till after sunset, Serpentosa lingered long 
enough to tell him where her prisoners were confined. 
The knight rushing to the grating of the dungeon, was 
hailed from below with cries of rapture and delight ; 
but alas ! he found it utterly impossible to move the 
grating, which was sealed by enchantment. Hearing 
this, the Duchess Serpentosa laughed in fiendish 
glee. 

"There is only one way in which you can get it 
open," she said, in a feeble voice, " and that is, 
through bringing back my strength. Go into the gar- 
den and pluck some everlastings, and some leaves of 
the plant called dragon's blood, and boil them. By 
sprinkling me with the liquid thus obtained, you can 
restore me, but hurry, as I am at death's door." 

The knight complied with her directions, and pres- 
ently Serpentosa was up on her feet again, though uglier 
than ever. She led the way to the grating, and by the 



n6 STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 

exercise of her magic power opened it, bringing up to 
the light of day her hapless victims. One by one they 
came, white and wasted to skeletons ; and last of all ap- 
peared the Prince. As they reached the upper air, each 
in turn fell into a death-like trance upon the floor. 

" Much good may they do you," shrieked the hag, 
spitefully, as she prepared to fly away upon a broom- 
stick. 

But the knight of the silver fish was too quick for 
her. Seizing her with one hand in a grasp of iron, he 
sprinkled the prostrate victims with what remained of 
the life-restoring fluid. Immediately they all sprang 
to their feet and, forming a ring around their wicked 
tyrant, lost no time in hacking her to pieces. With 
one consent, they voted that the castle should be set on 
fire with all that it contained. This was done, and the 
train of knights and courtiers, headed by the two 
brothers, set out for Madrid. No need to tell of the 
rejoicing that greeted them ! 

Of all the people in the town, the princess alone 
could distinguish her husband from his brother, but 
she recognized her beloved Prince without a moment's 
hesitation. A carriage-and-six with outriders, and 
chests containing gorgeous garments, were despatched 
to the cottage of the cobbler and his wife, who soon 
after arrived at the capital, looking and acting like 
grandees of the bluest blood of Spain. A feast was 
spread in the public square that went on for a week ; 
and the poor people ate so much they had no appetites 
for months to come. 



" And what else ? " said Regi, smacking his lips. 

" Oh ! nothing else," said the bull-fighter's sword. 



STORY OF THE TOREADOR'S SWORD. 117 

" I suppose, as you are so mealy-mouthed, you didn't 
like to have that witch killed ? " 

" Didn't I, though ? " answered Regi. " You may 
kill as many witches and dragons as you please ; you 
can't scare me. It's only real things, I mind. I'm sorry 
Spain is done." 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

" 1 should like to hear from you next," Regi said, 
lifting up a curious-looking drinking-cup, made of a 
walrus tooth, carved and set in bands of beaten silver. 

" I will tell you a legend of the far, far north," said 
the walrus tooth. " It is nothing more or less than an 
Icelandic saga, the adventures of one of the earliest of 
our heroes, a breezy tale that would blow the vapors 
out of any moping fellow, in my opinion. Not to 
vaunt my own wares, how T ever, here goes : " 



Long, long ago, in a region near Norway, lived a 
king named Haloge, from whom, in after years, this 
country took name, Halogeland. Haloge was the 
fairest of living men, and in strength and stature re- 
sembled the giants from whom he was descended. His 
wife, too, was the child of an ancient mighty berserk ; 
so that their daughter, Eimyrja, was not only the 
fairest beauty in the land, but a maiden erect and 
hardy as a young fir-tree, and fit to be a hero's bride. 

In this king's service, as warder of his land, lived an 
earl named Vifil, who loved Eimyrja, and was loved in 
turn by her. Often had he asked the king's permission 
to wed the maiden, but the father refused angrily. One 
night, when the winds were whistling about their ears, 
and the .waves beat furiously upon the shores, came 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 119 

Vifil in his boat to carry off the princess. Eimyrja 
followed her lover, and together they sailed over the 
dark sea to an island he had chosen for their home. 
Holding hard the helm with a wrist like iron, Vifil drove 
his boat, now upon hills of foaming emerald, now into 
valleys whence it threatened never to emerge. Icy 
gusts blew over them, hailstones smote the deck, but 
the dauntless Eimyrja knew no fear, when, far ahead, 
she could see, twinkling like a star, the light burning 
in the window of her husband's hut, upon a point of 
land rising from a circle of yeasty breakers. Vifil 
steered true and straight to this haven of their hopes, 
and, at length, when morning broke, the staunch boat 
was moored in safety in a tranquil harbor beneath the 
cliff. 

When the king found out the flight of his daughter, 
great was his wrath. He declared Vifil to be an outlaw, 
banished him from the kingdom, took possession of his 
estates, and kept from the princess the dowry that 
should have been hers by right. 

But Vifil and his wife, despite their poverty, loved 
each other dearly, and were satisfied to live in peace at 
Vifil's Island, like an honest farmer and his spouse. 
They had one son called Viking, who was very hand- 
some, and in his early youth became a man of great 
stature and extraordinary strength, worthy in all things 
of the race from which he sprang. 

When Viking was about sixteen, a certain king in 
oweden, named Ring, living at no great distance from 
Vifil's Island, got into trouble on his own account. Ring 
was sovereign, not of an entire country, you under- 
stand, but of a district capable of supporting an armed 
force of fifty warriors, and having its own independent 
chief. King Ring had a lovely daughter, named Hun- 



120 THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

vor, a maiden of unrivalled beauty and rare education. 
Tall and slender as a lily, Hunvor' s lips and cheeks 
were like ripe wood-strawberries, while her hair, like 
corn-silk, floated long and free. When she sat upon 
a cushion in her father's hall, broidering in silk and 
gold, all the youths in Ring's service burned with zeal 
to accomplish some feat of arms that might make them 
worthy to receive her hand in marriage. Back of the 
king's house was a mountain so high and dark and 
grim, no human foot dared penetrate its chasms, or 
trace its sombre paths. One day, a giant came down 
from this mountain and went straight to the door of 
Ring's house, demanding to be admitted to the king. He 
was a formidable creature, fierce and wild-looking, with 
fiery eyes, and in his hand he carried a two-headed pike. 

" Go hence ! " said the porters, roughly ; " our king 
will not receive you." 

With that, the stranger smote both the stalwart 
porters, piercing one of them with one point of the 
pike, and the other with the other point ; holding them 
thus impaled, he tossed the two corpses easily over his 
head to the ground behind him. Meeting no further 
resistance from the men-at-arms, the giant strode into 
the king's presence, where Ring sat at meat. Not far 
from the king sat the fair Hunvor, and as the stranger's 
eyes turned upon her she trembled, knowing not why. 

" Since I have taken the trouble to come down from 
my mountain to visit you," curtly said the giant, "I ex- 
pect you, king, to grant my request without any more 
ado. I want your daughter Hunvor for my wife, and 
as you are growing a little old and infirm, I may as 
well take your kingdom now, and rule over it in your 
stead. If you refuse me, I shall kill you and take the 
throne and Hunvor in any case, so you may as well 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 121 

submit, for I am Harek the Ironhead, whose power no 
man can oppose and live." 

" You lose no time in stating what you wish," said 
King Ring, laying his hand upon his belt-knife, as did 
the warriors present. 

" Threaten me not ! " roared the giant in a tremen- 
dous voice ; and, lifting his pike, he would have slain 
the gray-bearded Ring upon the spot, had not Hunvor, 
swift and fearless, come between them. 

" Be not so hasty, father," she cried ; "let us, at least, 
parley with this warrior. I like his looks not a little, 
and might be brought to give him my hand. But first, 
I wish to ask if no ransom could be paid, so that I might 
go free." 

Harek's wrath melted like snow in the sun, as she 
looked on him. 

"I will fight for you," he said, stoutly. "If the 
king, or any one he may send in his place, will meet 
me in single combat upon a rock at sea, fighting to the 
death, the one who survives may have the right to dis- 
pose of you." 

So saying the Ironhead went out, and Hunvor, now 
the immediate danger was removed, wept bright tears 
upon her father's silvery locks. 

" None there is strong enough to meet him, oh ! my 
father," she cried. " Not you, and not another in the 
kingdom." 

The king sent Hunvor to her bower, and assembled 
all his subjects, asking if there was one among them 
willing to risk the combat for her hand. One by one, 
the young men withdrew, for they knew that such a con- 
flict meant certain death. Then Hunvor sent for a 
trusty man-servant, by name Eymund, desiring to speak 
with him alone in her bower. 



122 THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

" Eymund," said the princess, whom he found walk- 
ing up and down her room, greatly excited, a red spot 
blazing upon either cheek, " take you a boat, and sail 
to Vifil's Island, which lies outside of Woolen Acre. 
By to-morrow, at nightfall, you will have reached the 
spot. On that island you will find a farm-house, and 
in that house live a man, his wife and their son, a 
youth of noble countenance. It is to this youth that I 
look for help in our trial, and if he cannot give it, then 
I know not w r here to turn. Greet the master and mis- 
tress, but speak not to them ; only cast this letter in the 
son's lap. And now make haste ! " 

Eymund took a boat armed with eleven men, and 
sailed to Vifil's Island. There he found all as the 
princess had said, the master and mistress sitting by 
the fire that burnt low upon the hearth, the son re- 
turned from fishing, carrying a seal and many fine fish 
to lay before them. Eymund saluted the elders, but 
cast the letter into the son's lap. Viking, with wonder 
on his beautiful young face, took the letter and found 
within a greeting from the king's daughter, promising 
to be his wife if he would fight with Harek Ironhead. 
The blood forsook his cheeks, at which his mother be- 
sought him to tell her the contents of the letter. When 
they heard the news, the fond parents looked with pride 
upon their son, even while trembling at the risk pro- 
posed to him. 

" Do you know who this monster, Harek, really is ?" 
asked Vifil. "No? Then will I tell you, as I have 
good reason to know all about his family. He is one 
of the invincible children of a famous magician named 
Kol the Humpback, who owned three treasures : first, 
the mightiest sword in the world ; second, a magical 
ring making its wearer fearless of every mortal power ; 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 123 

and, third, a drinking-horn out of the lower end of 
which all who drink are made as weak as children and 
forget the past ; while to drink out of the upper end 
restores both health and memory. Kol's oldest son was 
Bjorn the Blue-Tooth, whose eye-tooth, of a bright blue 
color, extending an ell and a half out of his mouth, 
often served him to put people to death. He inherited 
his father's sword ; but once, when I was warden of 
the land of your grandfather, King Haloge, I met Blue- 
Tooth in battle, and dealt him such a blow that his 
blade fell from his hand. Whereupon I picked it up, 
smote him through the body, and killed my enemy. 
This sword, Viking, I have kept for you, and in due 
time you shall possess it. The second child of Kol is a 
daughter called Dis, who still lives, and is a cruel, 
crafty sorceress. She owns the drinking-horn that has 
brought many an unwary traveller to an end worse 
than death. The remaining child is Harek, surnamed 
the Ironhead, because, at seven years old, his skull was 
thick enough to resist the power of Bjorn the Blue- 
Tooth, who, with all his might, drove his tooth against 
it without hurting him. To Harek fell his father's 
magic ring, so that no living adversary can affright him. 
If you have made up your mind to venture this en- 
counter, my son, it is not I who will withhold you. But 
I warn you of the great strength of this man, whom no 
iron can scathe." 

" Be that as it may," answered Viking, " I shall save 
the princess. Only once have our eyes met, when she 
saw me wrestling w T ith her father's earls last summer 
on the green. But she remembers me, she trusts me, 
and I will be w T orthy of her love." 

Then Vifil, seeing that the youth's mind was made 
up, brought out the sword Angervadil, that he had used 



124 THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

to slay Bjorn the Blue-Tooth, at sight of which Viking's 
eyes sparkled. 

When Eymund, returning to his mistress, told her 
that on the appointed day her chosen champion would 
appear, a blush came upon her lily cheek. She clad 
herself in raiment as for a festival, and, shining like a 
star, sat in the highest place to look on at the meeting 
of the combatants. All the people were there, and the 
king and his nobles. None spoke, for all were heavy- 
hearted. Then came Harek the Ironhead, looking 
more doughty and forbidding than before. Last of all, 
entered a stripling, tall and powerful, clad in a dark 
blue kirtle, with a silver belt about his waist, and on his 
head a cap made of a seal's skin. At his side was girt 
a huge sword, and his young face was beautiful as the 
day. Saluting the king and the princess, he declared 
himself to be Viking, son of Vifil, and grandson of 
King Haloge ; and that he did no discredit to his 
splendid ancestry, every one avowed. When Harek 
found who was appointed to fight against him in the 
holm-gang (for so the duel on a rocky island was 
called), he laughed in scorn. With the king and a 
few others, the combatants quickly repaired to the 
island, where Harek, taking his place, struck at Viking 
a blow that under ordinary circumstances would have 
reduced a man to powder. Having unsheathed his 
glorious sword, Viking parried the blow, but did not 
strike. At the first sight of the magic blade, Harek 
trembled. 

" Had I known you possessed the sword Angervadil, 
that for so long has been lost out of our family, I 
should not have encountered you ! " the giant shouted ; 
"but come on, it is your turn now." 

Viking sent a quick stroke flashing through the air, 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 125 

that clove in two Harek's iron skull, and, as the giant 
fell dead to earth, a shout went up from the spectators. 
Then the king and his men bore Viking away from the 
spot, and on the shore they were met by the princess 
and her maidens, and conducted in triumph to the hall. 
Viking was betrothed to the princess ; but he agreed, 
since they were both so young, to travel for three years 
and try his fortune as a warrior of the sea, before they 
should be married. 

The king gave him a ship, in shape like a dragon, 
the prow and sides inlaid with precious metals. In the 
summer he explored islands and skerries, fighting 
freely and gaining great renown as a rover ; and in 
winter, braving tempest, snow, ice, and piercing cold, 
he pursued the witch-whales, taking refuge at times, 
but only when driven by stress of weather or by ice, 
in some friendly dwelling along the shore. Viking was 
a true Berserk, and would never have been satisfied to 
dally with fair maiden, and live in ease, before he had 
sailed the seas far and wide, overhauling merchantmen, 
to wrest from them tribute to be divided among his 
crew, or meeting in fair fight his enemies and fellow- 
vikings. Yes, a wild, fierce life was that ; and our youth 
rejoiced in it. In fair weather, he would sleep upon his 
shield on deck, under the tent of deep blue sky ; and 
when the storm raged he was alert, guiding his vessel 
over the trackless sea, searching the horizon for the 
glad sight of a stray ship. When one appeared to 
view, captain and crew were roused to exultant joy 
with the prospect of encounter, boarding and strife, 
such hot work oftentimes that the enemy would not 
give in till decks were strewn with heroes whose souls 
had sought Valhalla. 

After two years of this stirring life, he came, one fair 



126 THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

autumnal day, upon an island shaded by a dense forest. 
To seek variety, Viking went ashore, and for some 
time wandered alone upon green moss under the 
drooping boughs of the wood. In a verdant glade he 
sat him down to listen to the sound of a murmuring 
stream ; for, to the real Berserk, no scene of nature is 
complete unless it bears to his ear the music of running 
waters. 

While thus engaged, Viking beheld a lady issue from 
the wood and come toward him. She was exquisitely 
beautiful and her speech to him was courteous. They 
talked together for a while, and Sun Bright (for such 
was the lady's name) charmed the sailor more and 
more. At last, complaining of thirst, he was about to 
drink from the streamlet. 

"I have drink here worthier of a hero," said Sun 
Bright, with a smile ; and, taking from the chain at her 
girdle a silver horn, she offered him wine. Viking 
drank eagerly of this, and, immediately feeling sleepy, 
his head nodded forward ; and then he knew no more. 
When he awoke it was evening, clouds were gathering, 
and the wind moaned in the branches. Sun Bright had 
disappeared. A strange shivering fit came upon him, 
as he got up to stagger back to the ship. Stranger than 
all, he had forgotten his entire past ; no memory of his 
betrothed wife, of his home or parents, visited his mind. 
When his men received him aboard ship, they laid him 
on a couch, for they saw he was grievously ill. For 
many months Viking continued under the spell of this 
terrible disease, growing weaker gradually. Once the 
crew saw three ships sailing by them, and asked if 
their chief could do any good to the suffering Viking. 
This chief, by name Halfdan, was a generous man, and 
his heart was touched by the spectacle he saw. He 







mrnsmmM 



1|1B 



wz& 



tip 







■;■<.' 



^MwJ^^^ff^a? 




*"/ &z^<? aVm/£ 7/,?^ worthier of a hero,'' said Sun bright zvilh a 
smile. 1 '' 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 127 

inquired the cause of Viking's illness, and on hearing 
the story, said to him : 

" Now am I no longer surprised, for in truth you 
have fallen under the spell of no less a sorceress 
than Dis, the famous daughter of Kol, owner of the 
magic drinking-horn, and sister of the.Ironhead you 
slew. No doubt she thought to avenge her brother's 
death. Here will I form a brotherhood with you, and 
together we will try to punish this foul witch as she de- 
serves." 

Viking swore fellowship with Halfdan, who soon 
after went ashore to visit an open space in the forest, 
where, coming up to a large rock, he knocked on it 
with his stick. The rock opened and out came a dwarf, 
who, on seeing his visitor, greeted him pleasantly. 

" And what do you expect me to do for you this 
time, my son ? " asked the dwarf. 

" I want you to procure for me the drinking-horn of 
Dis, the sorceress," said Halfdan, boldly. 

At hearing this name, the dwarf shuddered. " What 
you ask of me would be my death if I attempted it," 
he said ; " know you not that in all the world there is 
not a witch like Dis ? However, as in times past you 
have done me a great service, I shall do my best to help 
you." 

Halfdan was obliged to be satisfied with this promise, 
and, returning to the ships, told Viking of what had 
occurred. After seven days' delay, at the end of which 
Viking seemed to be near the point of death, Halfdan 
received a visit from his friend the dwarf, who was so 
exhausted that he could hardly speak, but, with panting 
breath, placed in Halfdan's hands the magic drinking- 
horn. 

(i Now must I make all speed to hide myself," said 



128 THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 

the dwarf, when he could speak. " Do not ask me how 
this treasure came into my possession. Be satisfied 
that it was not secured without the exercise of all my 
strength and skill. We had a fierce encounter, and as 
I believe Dis to have been mortally wounded in the 
course of it, I am in haste to get to a place of safety 
where I am sure they will not pursue me ; so farewell, 
and luck attend thee and the gallant Viking." 

Halfdan thanked the generous dwarf, returning 
speedily to his friend's side. There was no time to 
lose, for our poor hero lay with glazing eyes, and all 
consciousness was gone. Reversing the horn, Halfdan 
poured from the upper end of it a few drops of the 
liquid it contained into Viking's mouth, and immedi- 
ately the blood coursed into his cheeks, his pulse beat 
again, and life and strength came back to him. Once 
more was he the vigorous youngster who had met in 
single combat the terrible Ironhead. With health, came 
back memory. Viking thought of his parents, of his 
long-forgotten bride ; and a great desire to see them 
took possession of him. Urging Halfdan to accom- 
pany him to his home, the two joined ships and sailed 
to Woolen Acre. There a shock awaited them. The 
friends and followers of Ironhead and Dis, rallying to 
avenge their leaders, had descended upon the mansion 
of King Ring, murdered the king and his courtiers, 
ravaged the countiy-side with fire, and, taking Hunvor 
and her maidens captive, had carried them away to a 
fortified town in the interior. Viking's blood surged 
in a mighty current through his veins, as he swore to 
rescue Hunvor. Together as before, he and his ally 
Halfdan sailed northward, till they met a fleet of 
eighteen ships, which proved to be a formidable array 
of the enemy. No need to ask what followed. Without 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 129 

delay they hurled a shower of stones so straight and 
strong as to kill more than a hundred men in their 
sleep, taking them by surprise. The battle raged till 
nightfall, and on the second day it began again, but in 
the end our heroes won both victory and many rich 
prizes. From their prisoners they learned the way to 
the town where Hunvor had been carried, the present 
fleet having been placed there expressly to prevent 
Viking from following her. After gathering new ships 
and new men, the brothers-in-arms proceeded directly 
to land, and confronted the army of the wily Dis before 
the burg in which Hunvor was confined. Dis, although 
grievously wounded in her struggle with the dwarf, 
had rallied all her forces, and was now determined to 
crush Viking and recover from him both sword and 
ring and drinking-horn. The battle set in, and a 
bloodier one was never fought, so thought our two 
brave warriors. During four days it raged unceas- 
ingly, and although Dis was frequently struck, she ap- 
peared not to be wounded, but moved as if floating 
through the air, exhausting all her powers of magic 
against the combatants. Finally, by surrounding her 
with shields, they succeeded in making a captive of 
her and tied her hands with bow-strings ; and then the 
men, covering her with the skin of an animal, stoned 
her to death for a foul witch, as she was. 

After her death the army could not hold out as be- 
fore, and yielded to their brave opponents. Viking 
rushed into the town, liberated Hunvor and her 
maidens, and, clasping his beloved to his breast, swore 
that the marriage should take place at once. This was 
done, and after exchanging vows of friendship and 
gratitude with noble Halfdan, the newly wedded couple 
went aboard the dragon ship to sail over sparkling 
9 



130 



THE WALRUS TOOTH'S STORY. 



brine to the little island home, where Vifil and his wife 
waited to welcome and to bless them. 



When the walrus tooth ceased speaking, Regi's face 
was flushed as with the glow of outdoor exercise, and 
his blood tingled. 

" I'd a great deal rather be a Viking than a lawyer ! " 
he remarked, as if following out some harassing train 
of thought. 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

More than once, upon his visits to the cabinet, Regi 
had been struck by the appearance of an open fan that 
seemed coquettishly to invite his better acquaintance. 
It was a folding fan, painted on ancient vellum, the 
sticks of ivory overspread with a peculiarly brilliant 
and lustrous polish, making it glow with the glitter of 
a gem. The pictures on this fan represented ladies in 
looped-up gowns and high-heeled slippers, sitting upon 
banks covered with roses, or wandering beneath forest 
boughs accompanied by cavaliers in satin small-clothes, 
velvet coats and curling powdered wigs, all painted 
with exquisite delicacy in hues borrowed from the 
clouds at sunset, and softened, though not effaced, by 
time. There was one charming little demoiselle in par- 
ticular, who, ever since Regi could remember her, had 
been attempting to step over a brook. She had pink 
stockings and a pearl necklace, and Regi thought her 
the prettiest girl he had ever seen — prettier even than 
the young lady in the chromo decorating the old 
nursery-clock. 

" I think I shall ask you for a story," he said, stop- 
ping before this fan one day, when the floating snow 
made a white world without. 

" Me ! oh ! willingly, monsieur," the fan answered, 
fluttering before him in a sort of courtesy. " I have 
had much pleasure in listening to what the others have 



132 THE FRENCH FANS STORY. 

found to say. In the — if you will pardon me — some- 
what melancholy atmosphere in which we find ourselves, 
one relishes a little amusement now and then. If you 
could imagine how strange it seems to me, to see a 
grand salon like this deserted from week's end to 
week's end ! No music, no little dances, no games of 
cards ! True, we well understand that monsieur, your 
papa, has the misfortune to be a widower ; but then, 
with a slight effort, he might easily find distraction in 
friendly receptions now and then — no pomp, no show — 
a card-table, a little turn in the waltz, a cup of choco- 
late, or a glass of lemonade. Those things are man- 
aged better in France." 

"I don't believe papa would care for them much," 
answered Regi, trying to imagine his father taking a 
little turn in the waltz, and failing utterly. 

" Every one to his taste," the fan said, in a resigned 
tone. Regi noticed that she spoke in a high flute-like 
voice, a little positive, but caressing when she chose to 
make it so, altogether more refined and stately than 
the others. 

" Heigho ! It is evident that I belong to a past age," 
she said, with a faint sigh bringing to the boy's nostrils 
an odor of attar of rose. 

4< You look pretty old, though you aren't much 
cracked," said blundering Regi ; " how old are you, 
anyway ? " 

The fan shuddered at this indiscreet question until 
she set the Sevres figures in her immediate neighbor- 
hood in dangerous motion. 

"My dear, you are an actual barbarian!" she re- 
sponded, when sufficiently recovered. " Do you not 
know that a woman has no age ? It is sufficient for me 
to tell you that I am decorated in ' Vernis Martin,' a 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 133 

species of varnish invented by a court carriage-maker 
of a celebrated epoch in Paris ; and that my youth was 
spent in the boudoir of a very great lady, who was 
proud to own a work of art coming from the hand of a 
famous painter of the day. Little did I think, then, of 
surviving to reach an exile such as this. Why, it's 
worse than a convent ! Here I stand behind this screen 
of glass, in pretty good company, I don't deny ; but 
what do we see of life, of society, beyond Mary with 
the duster, and the footman who fetches logs for the 
fire ? I wouldn't give a pinch of snuff for it ! " 

" I didn't know I was rude," Regi put in, hoping to 
calm her growing agitation. " I think you're lovely, 
and so. does everybody. Did you never hear that lady 
tell stories to her children ? " 

" The countess was too much occupied with the so- 
ciety of the court to have time for amusing her children 
— though they came in, morning and evening, to salute 
her, in charge of their governess and nurses. The 
stories I heard were lively and plentiful, but hardly 
such as would entertain a little boy like you. Stay, 
there was one I may recall. It was told to the eldest 
daughter of Madame la Comtesse by an old abbe, a 
priest, who used to visit at the house ; and it was called 
" The Sapphire Bird." 

"That is the kind of name I like," answered Regi, 
brightening. He fixed his eyes upon the little maiden 
with the pearl necklace, making believe that it was she 
who talked to him, now that peace was restored, and 
the fan resumed her soft and pleasant tones. 



Perhaps this story was suggested to me by the al- 
lusion to your father's solitary lot, for it begins by 



i 3 4 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

describing the sorrow of a certain king who had lost 
his consort. So violent was his grief that, for eight 
days after the queen's death, he shut himself up in his 
room, refusing to speak to any one and continually 
beating his head against the wall. Unknown to the 
unfortunate monarch, his courtiers introduced cushions 
of down between the tapestry and the wainscot of his 
apartment, thus preserving from certain destruction the 
brains that were supposed to govern a mighty kingdom. 
Day after day, deputations of his subjects waited on 
him, urging the king to cheer up ; but in vain. He 
resolutely declined to smile, until one day, among his 
petitioners, appeared a woman veiled from head to foot 
in black crape. 

" What can I do for you, my good lady ? " asked the 
mournful monarch. 

"Alas, sire, it is little that human aid can do to com- 
fort me, for I am slowly dying of grief for the loss of 
the best of husbands," answered the lady, sobbing bit- 
terly. " But ere I go, I want provision made for my 
young daughter, Truitonne, who is at present residing 
with her godmother, the fairy Soussio. My husband 
left a large fortune to his child, which wicked people are 
trying to get away from us ; and for my orphaned girl 
I ask your kind help. When her rights are established, 
I shall be willing to depart from this darkened world." 

The lady became so agitated that she was forced to 
throw back her veil for fear of fainting, and the king 
beheld in his unknown visitor one of the most beauti- 
ful creatures he had ever seen. Unable to resist her 
petition and her tears, he did all she asked of him, and 
more ; for, in six months' time the afflicted widower 
married the afflicted widow, and together they sat upon 
the throne. 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 135 

Now, the king also had a daughter, a girl of extraor- 
dinary grace and accomplishments. Her name was Flor- 
ine, and, after welcoming her beautiful new mamma, she 
prepared with even greater joy for the reception of her 
new sister, Truitonne, who was to come back from the 
fairy Soussio's house to live at the palace. When 
Truitonne arrived, the entire household was taken dis- 
agreeably by surprise to find in her an ugly, pert, ill- 
tempered minx, with whom, owing to her unbearable 
disposition, it was impossible to live in peace. Before 
twenty- four hours passed, she had boxed Florine's ears, 
killed her canary birds, let the water run off her gold- 
fish, leaving them high and dry, spilt ink on her Sun- 
day frock, and made faces at the king behind his back ! 
In a week's time every courtier, maid-of-honor, govern- 
ess and servant about the palace, had some story to tell 
of Truitonne's sly performances. It was of no use to 
speak to the queen, for she thought Truitonne perfect, 
and the king saw everything as the queen did. Florine, 
poor dear pretty Florine, was pushed to the wall, as it 
were, and neglected, while the queen forced everyone 
to do honor to her own fright of a daughter. 

Things went on in this sad way, till one day it was 
rumored that King Charming, the monarch of a neigh- 
boring country, young, rich, and celebrated for his 
gallantry and generosity, was on the way to seek his 
bride at the court of Florine's father. Naturally, every- 
body talked of the suitability of a match between him 
and the lovely princess. " It would be such a good 
opportunity for the poor thing to escape from her 
step-mother and step-sister," people said. " Besides, 
the beautiful Florine was born to grace a throne." 
But when the queen heard the news, she persuaded the 
king that it was his duty to give Truitonne the first 



136 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

chance to win so splendid an establishment. She set 
all the dress-makers, and milliners, and wig-makers and 
jewellers in the kingdom to work to make an outfit 
for Truitonne ; and when the day for King Charming's 
visit arrived, she bribed the waiting-maids to lock up 
all of Florine's clothes, and to lose the keys. So poor 
Florine, when she went to her room to dress, could 
find only a simple every-day frock of white muslin, 
without so much as a ribbon for her hair, or a sash for 
her waist. One of the little pages, who loved Florine, 
ran up to her with a bunch of red roses he had gathered 
in the garden, of which Florine made a wreath for her 
nut-brown locks ; and then she went down to the re- 
ception of the king, feeling very shabby and decidedly 
out of place. In her embarrassment, she took a seat 
in the corner, expecting to pass unnoticed. There, in 
a conspicuous place, sat Truitonne, so laced, and 
painted, and frizzed and furbelowed, you would hardly 
have known her. She was really quite passable, and, 
when King Charming was presented to her by her 
mamma, he bowed politely, though inwardly wondering 
why report always exaggerates the beauty of a girl. 
Presently, when he heard her mother address her as 
Truitonne, he asked quickly, " But is there not another 
princess named Florine ?" 

"The king has a daughter by that name," answered 
Truitonne, reluctantly, "but she is an awkward, half- 
witted thing, and we don't care to talk about her, or to 
show her before strangers." 

The little page, who was serving a cup of wine to 
King Charming at this moment, heard Truitonne's 
abominable slander, and resolved to punish her. Ac- 
cordingly, he spilt a large flagon of Burgundy over 
Truitonne's white satin dress, completely ruining it 



THE FRENCH FMrS STORY. 137 

Truitonne, who had never learned to restrain her 
temper, flew into a rage, boxed his ears, dashed the 
cup and flagon to the ground, and finally ordered 
Florine, insultingly, to come and kneel before her 
and rub the spots upon the injured gown. As Florine, 
blushing deeply, obeyed, King Charming saw for the 
first time this lovely young creature, clad in white and 
crowned with natural roses. 

" Allow me, mademoiselle," he said, taking the nap- 
kin from her hand and casting it to the floor. " Beauty 
like yours should never stoop to degrade itself before 
insult and ill-temper." 

So saying, he turned his back upon Truitonne, and, 
on learning that the Princess Florine was before him, 
devoted himself to her for the remainder of the day. 
When the banquet was announced, he gave his arm to 
Florine to lead her in, seating her at his right hand, 
and pledging her in his first draught of wine. The 
queen and Truitonne, who were unable to help them- 
selves, were of course furious. When the evening was 
at an end, they retired to plot mischief ; and hardly 
had Florine reached her own apartment, before she 
found herself seized by four masked men, who, regard- 
less of her cries and struggles, bound and carried her 
to the top of a high tower, where she was locked up in 
a dismal room. 

Next morning King Charming, who was all im- 
patience to again behold his charmer, heard from the 
king, who was himself deceived into believing it, that 
Florine had chosen to keep her room in a fit of temper. 

" My poor step-daughter is all caprice, king," said the 
wily queen. " In fact, deeply as I regret to have to 
tell you, her temper is so dreadful that it is charity to 
believe her insane. After she saw you last evening, 



138 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

she relapsed into such a violent state that I dared not 
inform her father. Truitonne, my dear, generous 
Truitonne and I watched by her all the night." 

" But it is better for her to be out of her mind, your 
majesty," added a lady-in-waiting, whom the queen 
had bribed to slander Florine ; " for we all know to 
our sorrow, that when she is herself, no one can equal 
Princess Florine in mean deceitfulness ; how she im- 
poses upon that angel Princess Truitonne, who is so 
sweet and loving with her ! " 

" Yes," said another lady-in-waiting, also in the 
queen's pay, " Princess Truitonne is a model of all 
virtue, all true nobility of soul. I often ask myself 
how nature could have put so deformed a soul into a 
body so beautiful as Princess Florine's." 

There was more conversation of the same kind, and 
the king, going out of the room in a transport of dis- 
appointment and indignation, ran upon the little page 
who had spilled the wine the day before. 

" What, are you still crying because of a cuff on the 
ear bestowed yesterday, my little man ? " said the king. 

" No, your majesty, I never cried for that," the boy 
said, stoutly ; " I weep because our dear Princess Flo- 
rine has been locked up in yonder tower, and the queen 
tells lies about her to every one who will listen to them." 

The young king's face brightened wonderfully at 
this. He questioned the lad and resolved to secure a 
secret interview with Florine, when he might arrange 
to marry her and take her away forever from the pres- 
ent miserable existence. So, inducing the page to 
carry a message and a purse of gold to one of the 
ladies placed in attendance upon Florine, he asked that 
the princess would grant him an interview the same 
night at a lower window of the tower. 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 139 

The little page was true, but the lady-in-waiting, 
although she received the purse of gold, hastened to 
betray all to the queen, who determined upon the des- 
perate measure of sending her despised and slighted 
Truitonne to the window in Florine's place. 

It was a dark night and the lover was easily deceived. 
Climbing up to the window upon the ivy that grew in 
massive lattice-work around the tower, he saw within 
a figure clothed in white, who listened in silence to his 
vows of love. 

" As I despair of winning you by ordinary means," he 
said, " I have resolved to enlist the aid of a friend who 
is a magician. To-morrow night, at this same time, I 
shall arrive here at your window in a flying chariot 
drawn by winged frogs, by means of which we may 
escape without fear of being followed." 

"I will consent to fly with you," whispered the sup- 
posed Florine, " if you will permit the marriage cere- 
mony to take place at the house of my god-mother, the 
fairy Soussio, who would never forgive me if I were 
wedded elsewhere." 

" Where you will," exclaimed the enraptured king, 
who then placed upon her finger a ring of gold, in 
token of betrothal. 

On the following night, true to his promise, King 
Charming, driving a flying chariot drawn by winged 
frogs, appeared at the tower window. Veiled from 
head to foot in gauze, the bride got into the chariot, 
and together the happy couple flew off to the castle of 
the fairy Soussio. 

Soussio received them with surprise, but the bride, 
without unveiling, took her aside and revealed the 
forbidding face of Truitonne, relating how she had 
managed to ensnare Charming, and wondering how 



140 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

they could contrive to have the marriage take place 
before the king should find out his mistake. 

"As to that," said Soussio, laughing maliciously, 
" when I have once secured the presence of a guest 
within these walls, it is easy for me to deal with him. 
Let me see, though. It were better he should not see 
you before the ceremony." 

While Soussio and her goddaughter were plotting 
thus, the impatient king walked up and down a gallery 
at the end of which a large mirror was placed, chan- 
cing to look into which, he saw to his dismay the re- 
flected images of the fairy and Truitonne, standing to- 
gether in a room opposite. 

"I am betrayed !" shouted the king, hand on sword. 
" Let me but find out by what trickery this creature 
has been substituted for my adorable Florine." 

" Too late, King Charming ! " exclaimed the quick 
Soussio. " Now that you have eloped with my god- 
child, you are in honor bound to marry her immedi- 
ately." 

" I marry that deceitful little fright ! Never ! " cried 
the angry Charming. " Restore to me my own prin- 
cess, to whom I gave a ring in token of betrothal." 

" I am she, king," said Truitonne, simpering, as she 
extended the ring upon her finger. " It was to me 
your troth was plighted." 

" It is all a piece of foul trickery," he repeated an- 
grily, refusing to look at her. " Where are my frogs ? 
I'll not stay a moment longer." 

" Not so fast, if you please," said Soussio, extending 
her wand. And there were King Charming's feet 
stuck as tight to the floor as if they had been nailed 
to it! 

During twenty days and nights the hapless king re- 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 141 

mained in this position, while, first the fairy, and then 
the princess, plead with, Or reasoned with, or lectured 
or threatened him. But all in vain. " If I stay here 
till doomsday, I will have nobody but Florine," he 
staunchly answered. At last Soussio, out of all pa- 
tience, told him to choose between marriage with her 
goddaughter Truitonne, and doing penance during 
seven years under another shape. 

" Do your worst, old witch," said the king. " It 
could not be more of a penance than to marry Trui- 
tonne." 

At that, the fairy struck him smartly with her wand. 

" Begone from my palace ! " she exclaimed. " For 
seven years to come, you shall be a sapphire bird." 

In an instant, the king was changed into a bird with 
plumage of a lustrous sapphire blue ; and, uttering a 
single farewell note, he flew out of the window, as far 
as he could go from the dreadful home of Soussio. 

The fairy next carried Truitonne back to her mother, 
informing the queen of the failure of their plans. 

" There is one person who shall not enjoy our morti- 
fication," said the queen, " and that is Florine." So she 
dressed Truitonne in a rich bridal gown of white and 
silver, with garlands of orange blossoms, and, putting 
the king's ring upon her finger, led her to Florine's 
room. 

" I have brought King Charming's bride to receive 
your congratulations," said the queen. " The king bids 
me say to you that, having married Truitonne, he de- 
sires to have nothing more to say to her despised rival, 
Florine." 

Florine, doubting nothing, fainted away upon the 
floor. When she came to herself, she was again in 
solitude in her lonely tower room. Going to the win- 



142 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

dow for air, she saw in the branches of a cypress that 
grew to an immense height beside the turret, an ex- 
quisite blue bird, who watched her every movement. 

"Now am I ready to die," lamented the unfortunate 
princess. " I could not live to witness the happiness 
of Truitonne as Charm ing's wife. Ah ! king ! little 
did you know that on the first day we met you won my 
heart forever ! " 

Immediately, the blue bird flew in at the window, 
and to her 'astonishment spoke to her in a voice that 
exactly resembled Charming's. 

" Is it possible that I am again to see you, princess ?" 
he said ; " I am only fearful I shall die of joy." 

" And who are you, my charming bird ? " said 
Florine, caressing with delight his beautiful plumage. 

"You have spoken my name, and yet you pretend 
not to recognize me," said the sapphire bird, reproach- 
fully. 

" King Charming ! Can this be you ? " exclaimed 
Florine, greatly agitated. 

" Too truly it is I, my princess. I have fallen into 
the power of the fairy Soussio, and for seven years I 
am doomed to remain in this shape as a punishment 
for my love for you." 

" And yet you could marry Truitonne ! " said the 
princess. " For I saw your ring upon her finger." 

" You, like myself, have been cruelly deceived," re- 
joined the bird, who then told her all that had passed 
since her imprisonment. The hours flew like minutes ; 
and when it was time for them to part, the sapphire 
bird promised to come again next day, and every day, 
until something should occur to interrupt their happy 
meetings. 

He flew back to his own kingdom, and, entering in at 




'Immediately, the blue bird flew in at the windozv, and spoke 
to her in a voice that exactly resembled Ckarming r s" 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 143 

his palace window, took from his late mother's jewels a 
superb pair of diamond eardrops which, on the morrow, 
he carried as a present to Florine. 

In this way, not a day passed that he did not carry to 
his captive love some rare gem or ornament. Now it 
was a necklace, now bracelets, now a watch set in a single 
pearl, until the turret room overflowed with precious 
objects. At this juncture the father of Florine died, 
without knowing that his unhappy child was in posses- 
sion of her senses, the queen having persuaded him 
that the princess had become a dangerous lunatic whom 
it was their duty to keep in confinement. Now the 
queen and Truitonne had no further fear of interrup- 
tion to their cruel treatment of the poor girl, who, dur- 
ing two long years, was kept shut up, having bread and 
water put in at her cell door once a week only. 

Little cared Florine, since every day came her be- 
loved sapphire bird, bearing in his beak rare fruits or 
dainty food. Little by little, he brought her enough 
down to make a mattrass for her hard bed, and soft 
linen for its covering. When he was not talking with 
her, they sang together, and Florine asked no greater 
happiness than his dear company. 

One night the queen was informed by one of her ser- 
vants that the music of two voices, blended in song, 
had been heard to float from the Princess Florine's 
tower. This excited the queen's suspicion, and, with 
Truitonne, she climbed up the tower steps they were 
generally too lazy to ascend, to listen at the door. As 
had been said, there were certainly two voices, and, un- 
locking the door, the queen rushed in. 

"Who has dared to intrude upon your privacy?" 
she screamed. 

At the first sound of danger, the sapphire bird had 



i 4 4 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

flown to his perch in the cypress, and the queen found 
the chamber empty, save of the captive princess, who 
was unfortunately decked out in jewels fit for a sover- 
eign, while her couch and dressing table were spread 
Vvith lace and linen fine as a cobweb. 

" How came you in possession of such riches ? " asked 
the queen, angrily. 

" Since you have not visited me for two years, it can 
matter little to you what I have found in this tower," 
said the princess, quietly. 

The baffled queen searched the room, to find, hidden 
in Florine's pallet, a quantity of diamonds, pearls, 
rubies and gems of topaz, which she could not account 
for. Her first intention was to carry these treasures 
into her own quarters, but, on second thought, she re- 
solved merely to set spies to see how Florine came into 
possession of them ; hoping thereby to secure as many 
more. 

Holes were therefore bored in the tower room door, 
and a man set behind them to keep watch. For a week, 
at least, Florine, suspecting mischief, made the bird 
keep away, but at the end of that time, hearing no 
noise without, she summoned him again. The spy saw 
the princess go to the window and beckon, when, with- 
out delay, a beautiful sapphire bird came flying to 
perch on her finger and caress her with his beak, but 
not until he had dropped into her hand a pendant of 
rare black pearls. 

The queen, at hearing this, came the next night to 
see, for herself, the princess receive from her bird-lover 
a ring of enormously large brilliants. " This can be 
no other than the enchanted king," said the jealous 
woman ; and, informing Truitonne of her discovery, 
the two plotted a terrible revenge. Causing swords, 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 145 

cutlasses, razors, knives, daggers and other sharp in- 
struments to be affixed to every part of the cypress 
tree, they hid below it, till the hour of the bird's next 
visit. The unlucky bird, suspecting nothing, flew upon 
his usual perch to find himself pierced and cut un- 
mercifully, in every part of his body at once. Flying 
with the utmost difficulty away from the deadly tree, 
he reached the forest where he was accustomed to flit 
about when not with the princess. Then exhaustion 
overcame him, and, bathed in blood, he sank upon the 
limb of a tree, believing himself to be at the point of 
death. 

There he was discovered by his friend the magician, 
who, having seen the frog-chariot return home with- 
out its owner, suspected mischief, and set off in search 
of him. Seven times had the magician been round the 
world without finding a trace of King Charming ; and, 
just as he was setting off on his eighth journey, he 
happened to pass through the wood where the sufferer 
had retired. There, blowing his trumpet according to 
custom, and calling aloud, "King Charming, King 
Charming, where art thou ? " the friendly magician 
heard a moan, and a faint voice answering him from 
the tree above. 

" I am he whom you seek," said the wounded sap- 
phire bird ; " I am the wretched Charming, slain before 
the eyes of her he loves." 

The enchanter quickly climbed up to him, and, on 
applying a salve he carried in his pocket, had the pleas- 
ure of restoring the bird as completely as if he never 
had been wounded. 

" I would that it were in my power to give you back 
your shape," said the magician ; " but the fairy Soussio 
is in many respects my superior. All I can do is to 
10 » 



146 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

journey with you to her palace, and try what persua- 
sion or bribery will do to make her withdraw the curse. 
And, as it is evident that spies are set between you and 
the princess, you must not risk returning thither." 

The bird agreed, and they repaired to the fairy's 
castle. Soussio received her visitors pleasantly enough ; 
but, on finding out what the magician had to propose, 
her eyes flashed fire. 

" Never shall he be restored, until he marries my 
goddaughter ! " she cried. 

As Soussio had never been known to change her 
mind, the magician decided, mournfully enough, it was 
his duty to persuade Charming to accept the hateful 
Truitonne. To this end, he agreed with the fairy that, 
if she would restore the king to his natural shape, he, 
the magician, would spend several months in influenc- 
ing him to take the bride proposed. Should Charming 
hold out in his refusal, the fairy was to change him 
back again into the sapphire bird. 

King Charming was not at first told of the conditions 
that awaited him. The fairy simply transformed him, 
and left the room. Then the magician, with much ap- 
prehension, explained to him the condition of affairs. 

" I had rather remain a blue bird all my days than 
marry Truitonne," said the king, sadly. 

He was the fairy's prisoner, so she shut him up in a 
gorgeous chamber communicating with a smaller room, 
where any one who spoke in the king's apartment could 
be distinctly heard. Here, every day, he was permitted 
to view Truitonne, the fairy and the magician listening 
in the hope of overhearing some change of determina- 
tion on his part. The fairy instructed Truitonne to 
alter her manner completely, and to assume the ut- 
most gentleness. Next, she bade Truitonne inform 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 147 

the king that Florine, on hearing of his supposed death, 
had herself pined away and died. This intelligence 
caused the king such deep sorrow, that he could hardly 
be persuaded to take food or rest. He was plunged 
into a melancholy from which nothing could divert 
him ; and, while in this state, he made no longer objec- 
tion to the presence of Truitonne, who every day came 
to him with pretended compassion. 

Meanwhile, Florine, concealing her jewels in her 
dress, managed to escape from her tower, and to set 
out on a journey in search of her beloved. 

" I shall travel onward until I meet him, or have tid- 
ings of him," she said. Walking day and night until 
footsore and exhausted, she one morning sat down by 
a brook in the forest for the purpose of laving her 
bleeding feet. While thus employed, she was saluted 
by an old woman who came out of the woods. 

" What are you doing here alone, my pretty 
maiden?" she asked. 

" Good mother, I am not alone," answered the prin- 
cess, " since my sorrows always go with me." 

" Suppose you tell me what those sorrows are," said 
the old woman, struck by the sadness of tone in one so 
young. 

Florine told her story ; and, looking up in conclu- 
sion, she beheld the old woman change into a mag- 
nificently dressed lady, whose eyes were full of benevo- 
lence, although her brow was stern. 

" I recognize the tricks of that ill-bred Soussio," she 
said, with severity. " Know, maiden, that I too am a 
fairy, and that I will help you to regain your lost love. 
King Charming is no longer a sapphire bird ; he has 
regained his own shape and is a prisoner in Soussio's 
castle. Journey thither, taking with you these four 



148 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

eggs ; at the moment of your most urgent need, break 
one of them, and you will find the assistance you re- 
quire." 

Florine took the eggs the fairy handed her, and, with 
many thanks, resumed her journey, more anxious than 
before to reach its end. Before long she came to a 
mountain of pure ivory, so steep that she could not put 
her feet upon it without slipping. After many unsuc- 
cessful attempts to scale the mountain, she lay down at 
its foot, determined to die there ; but, bethinking her 
of the eggs, she took out one and broke it, finding with- 
in four clasps of gold, which she put upon her feet, 
and was thus enabled to climb the ivory mountain with 
perfect ease. When she reached the top a new diffi- 
culty presented itself. The valley upon the other side 
was composed of a single sheet ' of looking-glass, 
around which all the inhabitants of the country, far 
and wide, were gathered admiring themselves heartily, 
since this mirror had the property of reflecting people, 
not as they were, but as they wished to be. In the 
self-admiring multitude were as many men as women ; 
and as they looked up and saw Florine on top of the 
mountain that no one had ever before succeeded in 
scaling, they murmured indignantly : 

"What, is this wretch coming down upon us ! Her 
next step will break our mirror into pieces." 

So great was their resentment, that Florine dared go 
no farther. In despair, she broke another one of the 
fairy's eggs, finding within a silver chariot drawn by 
two milk-white doves. The chariot at once expanding 
to a size in which she could conveniently sit, Florine 
kissed each of her sweet little doves, asking them to 
carry her in safety to the castle of fairy Soussio. 

She sailed over the heads of the astonished groups 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 149 

below, and ere long reached the outer wall of the 
fairy's castle. How her heart beat on descending from 
the chariot. Next, she stained her beautiful skin of a 
dark brown color, matted her hair, and put on rough 
garments. This done, she presented herself at the 
gate, asking to see the king who was visiting the 
fairy. 

" Get you gone, girl," said the warder. " It's a pretty 
time to ask to see King Charming, just as everybody 
believes he has made up his mind to wed the Princess 
Truitonne. By to-morrow, at the latest, we hope for 
the announcement of their betrothal." 

Florine felt as if she would faint, but persistently 
kept her place. By and by out came Truitonne, 
dressed for a walk and looking most hideous. 

"Would your highness condescend to look at some 
beautiful ornaments ? " asked the peasant girl, holding 
out two of the emerald bracelets once presented her by 
King Charming. 

Truitonne, who was very fond of finery, eagerly 
clutched the jewels. 

"What price do you set upon them ? " she asked. 

" No money will buy them, your highness. But if I 
might have leave to pass the night in the famous 
chamber of echoes of which I have heard so much, I 
should be content to give the jewels up to you." 

Truitonne, who took her for a crazy creature, readily 
obtained leave of the fairy to gratify this freak. That 
evening, the vain princess displayed her new bracelets 
to the king, who, with more animation than he had 
shown for a long time past, examined them, saying 
they resembled ornaments once in his possession. 

That night, the king, whose memories of Florine had 
been painfully aroused by looking at the bracelets, 



150 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

could not sleep. He tossed upon his pillow, and at 
midnight he heard a voice lamenting softly : 

" He can forget, but I remember." 

So powerfully did this voice remind him of his dead 
Florine, that the king sat up in bed. Hearing no more, 
he supposed it to be a part of his uneasy dreams. 

Next day Florine broke another one of her eggs, 
finding within the prettiest toy imaginable. It was a 
small carriage made of polished wood and steel, inlaid 
with gold, drawn by six green mice, and driven by a 
rose-colored rat in livery. In the carriage were four 
dolls on springs, which performed many amusing tricks. 
When Truitonne came out to take her walk, she seemed 
to be in a bad humor ; and in truth she had reason to 
be, since the king, filled with renewed memories of 
Florine, had treated her with the utmost coldness. 
The peasant maid, winding up her pretty chariot, 
placed it directly in the pathway of the princess, when 
the coachman cracked his whip, the mice went off at a 
gallop, the puppets within smiled and bowed repeat- 
edly. 

" Oh, I must own this wonderful toy ! " cried Trui- 
tonne, who had the bad habit of wanting everything 
she saw. 

" It shall be yours, madam, if I may sleep but one 
night more in that wonderful chamber of echoes," 
answered the girl. 

Truitonne gave her leave to do so ; and that night 
Florine began again lamenting in a sweet low voice. 
But, to make rrim sleep better, the fairy had secretly 
drugged the king's drink, and this time he slept through 
all. Florine wept bitterly, when she found this to be 
the case. Next morning, she despairingly broke the 
last egg, feeling that her chances were very slight. Out 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 151 

came a large pie, in which nestled a dozen birds, singing 
delightfully when the cover of the pie was raised. That 
evening, when Truitonne and the fairy were at dinner 
with the king, the peasant girl pushed her way through 
the guards, bearing the pastry, which she set upon the 
table. Truitonne lifted the top, and out popped a 
dozen little heads with open beaks. Immediately the 
chorus began, and what song should they sing but one 
in which Florine had often mingled her voice with that 
of her lover in the tower. 

The king listened, and tears came into his eyes. His 
head fell forward on his breast, and his thoughts dwelt 
more and more on the image of his lost love. He was 
roused by the sharp voice of Truitonne bargaining 
with the peasant girl, for the purchase of this splendid 
pie. 

" It is yours, madam, if I may sleep but once more 
in the chamber of echoes," answered the girl ; and 
something in her voice reminded him of Florine. Ab- 
ruptly quitting the room, he was seen no more that 
evening. 

When Florine had gained the usual permission to 
sleep in the chamber of echoes, she managed, in going 
hither, to meet the king's personal attendant. Inquir- 
ing what his master drank before retiring, she heard 
that it was a cup mixed by fairy Soussio's own hand. 

" All these shall be yours," said the girl, pressing 
into his hand a number of unset diamonds and rubies, 
" if you will see that he takes a goblet of pure cold 
water, instead." 

The servant readily consented, and, at the appointed 
time, managed to spill the fairy's drink, and to offer 
cold water in its stead. Charming, too absorbed with 
his own troubles to notice what he was drinking, took 



152 THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 

the water, and, dismissing the man, threw himself down, 
all dressed, upon his couch. Toward midnight, he 
heard Florine's voice distinctly say : 

" I remember — you forget — 
Can I hope you love me yet?" 

" Florine ! " he cried, springing to his feet. The voice 
ceased, but he was sure that it came from the room of 
echoes, where he now remembered the strange peasant 
girl had asked leave to sleep. In a moment he had 
passed into the gallery and had thrown open the door 
of the room of echoes. There, instead of the brown- 
skinned shabby stranger, stood his lovely Florine, alive 
and well, extending her arms to him with a look of 
fond reproach. The king clasped her to his heart, and 
for a long time they talked uninterrupted, each ex- 
plaining to the other the series of misfortunes that had 
kept them thus apart, until a sudden noise announced 
the arrival of visitors to the castle. 

Who should these visitors, coming thus unexpectedly 
in the night, prove to be, but the friendly magician 
and the fairy of the eggs. The latter, by good luck, 
was a fairy of far higher rank, and of greater power 
than the cruel Soussio, who cringed before her. When 
this important personage demanded, as an especial 
favor, the immediate release of King Charming, and 
permission for his marriage with Florine to be celebra- 
ted on the spot, Soussio was all smiles and civility. 
Desiring nothing so much as to be regarded as a friend 
and associate by the great fairy, Soussio made haste to 
celebrate the nuptials of Charming and Florine without 
delay. When the wedding festivities were at their 
height, Truitonne came running through the crowd, 



THE FRENCH FAN'S STORY. 153 

loading the new bride and groom with all the abuse she 
could think of. 

" Stop ! " cried the friendly fairy, in a terrible voice 
that made all present tremble. " I am determined 
there shall be nothing to trouble the perfect happiness 
of this faithful pair. Truitonne, I condemn you to be- 
come a black cat for the remainder of your days. Your 
wicked mother has already been changed to a similar 
shape, and is waiting for you at the bottom of the stair- 
case." 

Truitonne, accordingly, became a black cat, and ran 
off, spitting and snarling, down the marble stairs, la- 
mented by nobody, even her godmother having tired 
of her whims and tantrums. The last that was seen of 
the two cats, they were disappearing, in miserable 
plight, into the woods, whence they never came out 
again. 



" That's a good long one," observed Regi, when the 
fan paused for breath. 

" And you are a good listener, mon petit," graciously 
said the narrator. But the little boy made no answer. 
He was wondering if Florine did not look like the lady 
on the fan. 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER 
PORRINGER. 

The next tale told to Regi came from a queer little 
flat silver porringer, picked up by his father in a shop 
in Stockholm, by way of a souvenir that would slip 
easily into an outside pocket. 



Once there lived a girl named Christina, who had a 
wicked step-mother. Christina was very beautiful, 
with eyes as blue as the summer sky, a complexion of 
lilies and roses, and long flaxen hair that she wore 
braided in two plaits reaching almost to the ground. 
When she had reached the age of sixteen, the step- 
mother grew so jealous of her beauty, that she deter- 
mined to set Christina to work in the fields, hoping 
that the sun and wind might tarnish the fairness of her 
skin. But the sun only smiled on the young girl, and 
the wind kissed her gently. She became prettier every 
day. Then the step-mother resolved to send her to 
mmd the pigs in the heart of a damp and noisome 
wood, on the edge of a stagnant pool. Christina had 
to get up by daybreak and drive her snuffling, grunt- 
ing charges into the wood, and remained there all day 
with but a morsel of oatmeal bread to stay her hunger. 

One day, when she was searching the bushes in the 
hope of finding there a few ripe berries, for the poor 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER, 155 

child was half starved and ready to cry from loneliness, 
a great white bear came out of the forest, and bade her 
have no fear of him, as he would be her friend. 

" I began to think I had no friend on earth," Chris- 
tina said, the big tears welling out of her pretty blue 
eyes. 

The bear made her tell him her troubles ; and the 
first thing he then did was to run off somewhere and 
come back speedily, holding a basket in his mouth. 
Christina opened the basket and, to her delight, found 
beautiful rolls of white bread, some slices of roast fowl, 
and grapes and pears such as she had never seen the 
like of, together with a little flask of ruby wine, and a 
drinking cup of chased silver. What a delicious meal 
she made ! The bear would not take a thing, although 
she urged him politely to do so, but stood watching 
her with a kind look in his eyes. " Now, I must leave 
you, most lovely maiden," he said ; "but first take this 
little golden whistle, and hang it round your neck. If 
ever you need my help for anything, blow upon it, and 
I shall aid you." 

That evening, when the girl returned home, the 
step-mother greeted her angrily. 

" So you've come back, have you ? " she cried. "Why 
in the world you haven't died of hunger, I can't imag- 
ine, unless you live to spite me." 

For some days, the bear continued to bring Chris- 
tina food, until the step-mother, suspecting the girl of 
having found a friend, followed her, and hid behind an 
oak-tree to see all that passed. When she saw Chris- 
tina faring like a princess, the woman was furious, but 
dared not rush out then and there, for fear of the 
bear, whose claws were formidable. When Christina 
came home that night, she suspected that something 



156 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 

was wrong, and, listening after she went to bed, heard 
the step-mother consulting with the hunters of the 
village as to how, on the morrow, they might en- 
trap and kill the bear. At early dawn, the young girl 
stole out to the forest, and blew her golden whistle. 
Instantly, the bear came trotting down the green forest 
path to meet her, and Christina warned him of the old 
woman's wicked purpose. 

" Have no fear, lady love," said the bear. " I can 
take care of myself and of you too, if you will let me. 
The time has come for you to escape from that crone, 
who will end by treating you with violence. But, first, 
before I carry you away, promise to obey me in all 
things." 

" Oh, I promise gladly, if you will only shelter me 
from my cruel step-mother," said Christina, sobbing. 
" My life has become so wretched that I shall be thank- 
ful to escape." 

So the bear took her upon his back, and they jour- 
neyed fast and far, over hill and dale. They came at 
last to the entrance of a forest, and the bear set her 
gently down. 

"Here you may follow me," he said; "but on no 
account touch anything you see." 

The path lay between woods where even the smallest 
leaf was made of silver that shone, oh, so beautifully ! 
Christina was enchanted, and several times stretched 
out her hand to pluck a shining twig, but each time 
drew it back again without doing so. At last she 
could not resist, and, as they were leaving the wood, 
broke off a single silver leaf and stuffed it in the 
bosom of her gown. 

" What have you done, my love ? " cried the bear, re- 
proachfully. 




" ' Oh ! I've only broken off one tiny leaf,' said Christina, feel- 
ing very guilty. ," 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 157 

" Oh ! I've only broken off one tiny leaf," said Chris- 
tina, feeling very guilty. 

"Quick, jump on my back again. It's a question 
whether we escape alive." Then a pair of furious 
wolves were heard growling in the deepest part of the 
wood. The bear ran swiftly, but the wolves ran after 
him, and for many miles the terrible chase was kept 
up. At length the bear, with a mighty effort, crossed 
a stream they dared not pass. 

Once on the other side, he fell down, panting and 
nearly breathless. 

" Forgive me, dear bear," exclaimed the penitent 
maiden. " I have made you suffer so much." 

She made him a couch of green moss and leaves, 
taking his great head upon her lap. After a time, the 
bear's strength came back, and they resumed their 
journey. 

At the entrance of a second forest, he made her again 
walk behind him. To Christina's delight, this forest 
was even more lovely than the first. The leaves and 
branches, and the soft moss underneath, were all of 
purest gold. Until they reached the end of the path, 
she did not lift her hand to touch anything. But, at- 
tracted by a lily of virgin gold that waved before her, 
Christina heedlessly broke it from the stalk to place it 
in her bodice. Then was heard a roaring of wild beasts, 
and, in an instant, two tremendous lions dashed from 
behind the thickets, and would have devoured them 
alive, but for the wonderful speed with which the white 
bear dashed ahead, carrying Christina on his back. 

" Shall I cast away the golden lily, bear ? " asked the 
maiden, as they drew near a second stream. 

" No, keep it, love, since we have bought it so dear," 
answered the brave bear, redoubling his speed. 



158 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 

The lions were almost upon him, and one of them, 
springing at Christina, barely fell short, and grazed the 
bear's flank, inflicting a deep wound. The bear's great 
strength was too much for them, however. With a 
bound he reached the opposite bank of the stream they 
dared not cross. 

The brave protector was now both weary and 
wounded. Christina bade him, as before, rest upon the 
soft moss, and lay his head upon her knees. She 
bathed his bleeding flank with her tears, and begged 
him to forgive her. The kind bear forgave her freely, 
and bade her find a certain herb which he said would 
heal his hurt. Christina sought till she found the herb, 
and with it bound up the wound, which quickly healed. 

They resumed their journey, entering upon a third 
forest more vast and more beautiful than either of the 
others. In this wood, the leaves of the trees, their 
trunks, and every little stick and twig, were set with 
diamonds that glowed and sparkled gloriously. Chris- 
tina's eyes were dazzled and her brain turned at sight 
of such beauty and magnificence. Unconsciously, her 
hand reached out to put aside a diamond wild-rose that 
brushed her cheek in passing ; in doing so she broke 
it off. At once, a frightful groaning and roaring were 
heard in the thicket, at sound of which the brave bear 
trembled. 

" It is the giant himself, the master of the three 
forests," he said ; " and now, my love, kiss me upon the 
forehead, and I will fight for you until I die." 

Terrified Christina kissed him upon the forehead, 
and with that, the giant rushed out of the wood, and 
attacked the bear with a huge club that might have 
felled an elephant to the ground. The combat lasted 
long and raged furiously ; but the bear, by his skill and 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER, 159 

bravery, proved a match for the giant, until the mon- 
ster, seeing himself worsted, made an angry dash at 
Christina and would have killed her instantly, had not 
the bear, throwing himself in the way, received the 
fatal blow. 

" When I die, find a way to throw my body into the 
giant's fountain," he whispered with his expiring 
breath. Christina, weeping, cast herself upon her 
kind friend's body, and the giant, seeing her so beau- 
tiful, declared that instead of killing her, he would 
make her his bride. 

So Christina was taken home to his castle, and 
placed in a tower made of a single block of crystal, 
where the giant could see everything she did. From 
her tower she beheld the giant bathing his wounds 
received from the bear, in a little fountain that shot up 
in the courtyard underneath. As soon as the water 
touched him, he seemed quite restored and stronger 
than before. 

" How can I have my poor bear's body carried to 
that fountain ? " Christina mused sadly ; but she dared 
not turn to the right or the left because of the eyes that 
watched her. 

That night Christina bethought her of her golden 
whistle, and, softly blowing it, she saw emerge from the 
shadow of the trees around the fountain, a long train 
of bears walking two and two. Advancing beneath her 
window, the head bear touched his cap politely, asking 
what were her commands. 

" In yonder wood you will find the remains of my 
dear friend the white bear," she said, sadly. " His last 
command was that his body should be cast into the 
fountain at your feet, and here am I, helpless, and a 
wretched prisoner at the giant's mercy." 



160 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 

" Fear nothing, lady," said the head bear. " This 
very moment we shall go to fetch the body of our 
lord. Lucky for him that you thought of blowing the 
whistle before sunrise of the coming day, for had you 
done so after that time, it would have been too late to 
bring him back to life." 

The procession of bears went away, soon returning 
with the lifeless body of their chief. They cast him 
into the water of the fountain, and after a short time a 
bubbling sound was heard, and the white bear swam 
out again, looking as well and strong as ever. 

Now was the time for the giant to arouse from his 
after-supper nap, and loud yawns and other noises were 
heard within the castle. 

" Save me, oh ! save me, bear," cried Christina, look- 
ing like a rose in a crystal vase, as the admiring bear 
gazed up at her. " Don't leave me here, if you love me." 

" If I love you ! " cried the gallant bear. 

He would have said more, but the giant, coming out, 
perceived his enemy at that moment, and immediately 
set upon him anew. The combat raged more furiously 
than before ; and Christina, gazing through her trans- 
parent wall, saw the bear wave his followers off, and 
bravely continue the fight single-handed. At length, 
the giant tumbled, crashing to earth like a falling oak- 
tree ; and the bear, with a cry of triumph, gave him a 
final mortal blow. Instructing the other bears to dig a 
grave and bury their enemy forthwith, where no one 
could find him, and perchance sprinkle him with water 
from the reviving fountain, the white bear again ad- 
dressed Christina. 

"You see that I have removed your worst enemy, 
my dear love, but there is much yet to be done. The 
crystal tower is enchanted, and only the giant could 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 161 

have opened it. I had intended to wring from him 
before he died the spell by which to set you free, 
but his great strength threatened to overwhelm me ; 
and I was forced to hasten matters, in order to save my 
life and yours. Far away, beyond the forests of jewels 
and of gold and of silver, through all of which I must 
needs pass again to reach her, dwells a wise woman 
who may tell me. Rest assured that I shall spare no 
pains to free you." 

Christina sobbed bitterly as he bade her adieu and 
went away, followed by his attendants. There she was, 
a prisoner in the crystal tower, far above the reach of 
human aid. Fortunately, food and drink were not 
denied her, for a little fountain of clear water trickled 
into a silver basin fastened to the wall, and heaped-up 
cakes of fine white bread, together with rare conserved 
fruits, lay on a shelf at hand. At night, she might lie 
upon a swinging couch of purple silk, covered with 
linen soft as a rose-leaf — while, to amuse her, there 
were books of which the stories and pictures changed, 
as soon as one had read them, to others more charming. 
But, as we all know, nothing seems pleasant if we must 
enjoy it in solitude, when we long for society. For 
many days and nights, Christina awaited the return of 
her friend. At length, one day, he emerged from the 
wood, weary and bleeding, a small remnant of his faith- 
ful followers limping after him painfully. It required 
all the strength they could muster to reach the fountain 
and plunge into its waters ; but alas ! with the death of 
the giant, the magic of the fountain had ceased to work. 
Five of the bodies remained lifeless at the bottom of 
the water, and the white bear alone struggled to the 
margin, where, speaking in a feeble voice, he addressed 
Christina : 



162 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 

" Ah ! dearest maiden, I am afraid our last hope is 
gone. After many dangers and difficulties, I reached 
the hut of the wise woman, who informed me that your 
only chance of being released from the crystal tower, 
is to use a talisman from each of the enchanted forests, 
upon the locks of the three doors. You know at what 
a cost such talismans are procured. In attempting to 
pick a leaf or twig from the trees, I and my band were 
set upon by the wolves, the lions, and a dragon who 
takes the giant's place in guarding the diamond forest ; 
and the rest you know." 

" Be of good cheer, my bear," cried the imprisoned 
maiden. " Have you forgotten that I retained the silver 
leaf, the golden lily, and the diamond rose ? " 

She ran to the door of the tower, and touched it with 
her silver leaf ; it flew open, revealing a long flight of 
steps. On the second landing she found another door 
that yielded to the touch of the golden lily, revealing 
another flight of stairs. At the very bottom, was a door 
guarded by fierce dragons without and within, and 
Christina gave herself up for lost. But, waving the 
diamond rose, she advanced boldly, and the dragons 
within crouched at her feet. The last door flew open, 
and as the dragons without saw the talisman, they too 
fawned upon the lady. Joyfully, Christina rushed to 
the side of the bear, but to her horror, found him life- 
less. In vain she sprinkled him with the water of the 
fountain. With the giant's death and burial, it had 
lost its magical powers. Christina cried bitterly, and 
then bethought her of consulting the dragons, who now 
appeared friendly enough. They carried the bear's 
body to the crystal tower room, and advised Christina 
to travel back through the enchanted forests to consult 
the wise woman. 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER, 163 

" With your three talismans you need fear nothing," 
explained the dragons. " Perhaps you can get the 
wise woman to part with a little of her elixir of life." 

Christina set out on her long journey, and travelled 
by night and by day, till she was footsore. In the dia- 
mond forest she was set upon as the bears had been, 
but the dragon bowed down before her talisman, and 
meekly followed in her train. In the golden forest the 
two lions became obedient ; and in the silver forest the 
wolves also submitted to her power. All of them 
walked after her to the wise woman's house, with ears 
down and tails between their legs. 

When the wise woman saw the strange procession, 
she wiped her spectacles, as she could hardly believe 
her eyes. Unfortunately, she was in one of her cross 
moods ; so she shut the door in their faces, bidding 
Christina begone, and saying she would get no help 
from her. 

The beasts, who were now Christina's slaves, bade 
her be of good cheer, as they would remain there to 
protect her until the wise woman should be induced to 
speak again and give the desired information. 

The wise woman, who was in reality a witch of the 
worst kind, was considering how she should get Chris- 
tina in her power. And, opening the door, she said in 
a mild voice : 

"If I have anything to tell you, maiden, I can do it 
only after I shall have quenched my thirst and satisfied 
my hunger. On yonder hill-side flows a spring of 
purest wine. Send hither your dragons to fetch me a 
jugful of this wine, and I may try to help you." 

Christina despatched the dragons willingly, and as 
they drew near the spring, both were seized with an 
overpowering desire to quaff its sparkling contents. 



1 64 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 

They drank their fill, and instantly went into a magic 
sleep upon the brink. 

" While the dragons are in search of a beverage for 
me," said the crafty witch, " perhaps you won't mind 
sending your lions to my sheepfold in yonder meadow, 
to pick me out a nice fat lamb for roasting." 

The lions, at a sign from Christina, trotted off, and no 
sooner had they reached the sheepfold, than they were 
overcome with a longing to eat some of the lambs they 
found there. At the first mouthful, the lions fell asleep 
upon the borders of the fold. 

"There is only one thing more," remarked the witch. 
" My dinner will be incomplete without a plump little 
savory kid from the pasture up above. Send your 
wolves for that, and I shall be entirely at your service." 

Christina obeyed, and the wolves, decoyed into 
temptation like their predecessors, were victims to 
their appetite for fresh kid. Now Christina was 
entirely unprotected, and the witch rejoiced. 

" Long may you wait before your beasts return to 
you ! " she cried, rushing out upon the helpless girl, 
and drawing her within the hut. Vainly Christina tried 
the powers of her talismans. The witch defied them 
all three, and the poor girl made up her mind to die. 

" Give me but leave to sing the psalm we used to 
chant in our little village church," she said, weeping, 
"and I am ready to die." 

The witch consented, and Christina sang. As the 
pure, sweet tones of her voice rose upon the air in the 
notes of the holy song, the witch was seized with a 
sudden trembling. 

" Stop, for mercy's sake," she cried ; but Christina 
only sang louder. Her powerful voice, penetrating the 
spot where her beasts lay under the witch's spell, broke 



THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER. 165 

the power of the magic, and they were aroused at once 
and flew to Christina's rescue. The witch was, by this 
time, reduced to a weak and shuddering state, and 
crouched in a corner in abject fear. 

" Ask what you will, only be silent," she cried. So 
Christina demanded a vial of the elixir of life, which 
the witch bade her find upon one of the shelves ; and 
then the maiden, followed by her protecting train, 
wended her way in safety from the dangerous spot. 

Arrived at the crystal tower, Christina discovered her 
friend the white bear, lying stretched as she had left 
him. Quickly opening the vial above his head, a vapor 
like steam filled the room, accompanied by a powerful 
scent of roses. Christina saw nothing until the air was 
clear, when lo ! instead of the bear, she beheld a young 
and handsome knight, who had been long enchanted in 
this shape. By mistake, for the elixir of life she had 
taken a vial containing a fluid of the witch's own con- 
coction, warranted to restore to natural shape all vic- 
tims of enchantment, and endowing them, also, with 
perpetual health and youth. 

Christina and her knight went in search of his be- 
witched companions, and restored them too to life and 
vigor. 

The marriage took place very soon after, and they 
became King and Queen of the three enchanted forests 
and of the crystal tower. 



" Is that a real folk tale ? " Regi asked, when the 
porringer had finished. 

" Well, you must not press me too closely on that 
point," answered the little silver dish, good-humoredly. 
" The part about the three forests and the girl escap- 



166 THE STORY OF THE SILVER PORRINGER, 

ing through them on the bear is genuine, certainly. 
If elsewhere I rambled on according to my fancy, you 
must remember that my intention, at any rate, was 
good." 

" Were you owned by anybody great ?" pursued the 
investigating Regi. 

" My mistress was a great hand to weave fine linen, 
if that's what you mean. My master worked in a match 
factory, and was as nice and honest a fellow as ever 
I saw. I was sorry enough when they broke up their 
little home to emigrate to America, and sold me to a 
dealer. They felt badly about it too, but they needed 
every penny for the voyage." 

''Where do you suppose they are now ?" inquired 
Regi. 

"Where are the waves that break upon the shore ?" 
returned the porringer, sentimentally. "Suppose I 
tell you the right name of the story of the Three For- 
ests. It is De tre Under-skogarne. Does that make it 
real enough to suit you ? " 






THE SWISS CLOCKS STORY. 

" Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! " said a busy little gentleman, 
popping his head out of an open door. " It's time 
somebody asked me to tell all I know. Pray, what is 
the use of my stepping up every half-hour to remind 
you that I am here, if I'm never to have a chance to 
speak ? " 

" I'm ready, if you are, Mr. Cuckoo," answered Regi, 
laughing at his fussy little ways. 

" In a certain valley, in view of a lake fed by the 
noisy waters of a glacier stream, I saw the light," said 
the cuckoo, who inhabited a carved Swiss clock, hang- 
ing upon the wall of the Standish drawing-room. 
" The house my maker lived in, was one of a village of 
wooden dwellings, with overhanging roofs kept in place 
by large stones, and built so close together that one 
could almost shake hands with his neighbor across the 
street by leaning from the window. This was to provide 
against the tremendous gusts of wind that swept their 
streets in winter, threatening to lift the roof, and leave 
the people inside in the state I have seen your Noah's 
ark animals in, when the top of their abode was taken 
off." 

" It's a long time since you have seen me with a 
Noah's ark," put in Regi, with a blush of resentment 
at the belittling suggestion. 

11 1 came from your old home, if you please," said the 



168 THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 

cuckoo in the clock ; " and I have reason to believe that 
if my carving had not been something unusually rare, 
I should have been shut out of this fine room. I hope 
you will bear in mind that I knew you when you were, 
comparatively speaking, in the flower of youth." 

" I suppose I did play with toys when I was a little 
fellow," answered his hearer. " But go on, please, and 
tell me more about that funny town you lived in." 



Most of the houses had carved balconies running 
around them ; and up under the eaves of the roofs 
hung corn, put there to dry for the food of the ground- 
floor tenants, consisting, in the cold season, of cows, 
horses, goats and poultry, who lived separated from the 
family above only by a flooring of thin planks. The 
cart was kept in the yard leaning against the house 
wall, and when they wanted to harness the horse to it, 
he had only to step out of one of the doorways of the 
universal dwelling. Nothing could be more convenient 
when the great snows fell. 

In this, my native village, there were several expert 
wood-carvers, of whom my maker was the chief. Some- 
times they would band together to work and chat, and 
there it was that I heard many interesting details about 
the habits of a race of dwarfs, or Hill-men, once in- 
habiting the clefts and caverns of the surrounding 
mountains. They were reputed to be friendly enough 
to deserving people, but had no scruple about flying 
into a terrible rage, if their wills were crossed. In 
winter, when the outer world was one vast desolation 
of ice and snow and frowning granite ; when only the 
great glacier dividing the heights, lit at morning and 
at evening with a rosy glow from the sun, recalled the 



THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 169 

pictures of the summer ; when howling winds bent the 
fir-trees low upon the cliffs, above the awful chasms 
they seemed to guard ; then, the Hill-men were never 
seen abroad. More to the taste of the wise and prud- 
ent little people were their own firesides, many a 
fathom deep within the rocks, where they sat, 'twas 
said, under arches of pure gold, in palaces made of 
rock-crystal, gleaming with a thousand brilliant hues. 

It was in the spring, after the unfettered avalanche 
and torrent had done their destructive work of plung- 
ing down precipice and ravine, sweeping away houses, 
fences, trees, bridges, living creatures — every hapless 
thing that crossed their path — that the Hill-men care- 
fully unbarred their mountain-doors to sally forth. 
For, in Switzerland, you must know, while the snow- 
shrouds are still clinging to the steep mountain-sides, 
the fields and forests become green as emerald, the 
grass is gemmed with innumerable flowers, and straw- 
berries appear high up on the hills, at the very edge of 
the snow-crust. Those little Swiss flowers understand 
that they are expected to put their best foot foremost, 
in spite of adverse circumstances. They bloom per- 
sistently in the oddest places ; you find a tuft of violets 
pushing from under a rock covered with snow at mid- 
summer ; the red and purple gletscherblume, grows 
beneath the icicles of a glacier ; the edelweiss — flower, 
leaf and stem looking as if cut from white velvet— loves 
the snowy regions. Farther down are gentians and 
gentianellas, those sapphire beauties of the Alps ; rocks 
carpeted with pink heather ; tall sword-ferns in abund- 
ance ; masses of moss and lichens — and of Alp rose, 
with its shining leaves bronzed on the under side. 
Our people used to say that the Hill-men plant out 
these blossoms, and watch and tend them, which ac- 



i 7 o THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 

counts for their hardiness. The patches of rich short 
grass, found here and there in barren spots strewn with 
boulders, were the grazing places of an especial breed 
of chamois kept by the little folks to provide them 
with milk for their famous cheeses. Lucky the peasant 
who discovered one of these dainties left beside his door, 
since, when a slice or a bite was taken from it, the Hill- 
wives' cheese grew out again, and thus proved ever- 
lasting, besides melting in one's mouth with a delicious 
flavor. 

A merry fellow and full of roguish tricks, was the 
Swiss Hill-man, spite of his hot temper. He was com- 
passionate and generous, too. Many a stray lamb did 
he drive back to the fold, and many a shepherd guide to 
where his missing herds were grazing. If a weak child 
were sent by its parents to fetch home firewood, often 
would it find a neatly made bundle of brush lying 
across the forest-path. Sometimes a poor old crone 
would discover in her hay-shed a dozen pearly eggs 
where she had hoped for but one ; and, anon, at the 
elbow of the toiling woodsman mysteriously appeared 
a bowl of frothing milk. 

One of the pleasant stories about the valley-roaming 
dwarfs, was as follows : One day, an honest laborer 
named Barthel went out with his little son to plough 
a field which he meant to sow with corn. Barthel 
was not a skilled hand with the plough, and he felt 
very anxious about the success of his undertaking, 
since, latterly, all his sheep had died of a pestilence, 
and poverty was staring him in the face. From dawn 
till noon, the two worked patiently, turning the grassy 
soil in furrows, the sweat rolling from their foreheads. 
The boy, who was very tired, stopped to rest, when, on 
looking over at the rocky heights beyond, he beheld 




" There lay a silver dish, heaped with roast beef, and beside it a 
loaf of bread.'''' 



THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 171 

smoke rising from a hill-top, while the air was filled 
with the smell of savory cooking. 

" Look, father ! " cried the lad. " There is the smoke 
from the Hill-men's kitchen. No doubt they are mak- 
ing ready for a feast. How good their cooking smells, 
when one has had nothing to eat but a crust of bread 
since morning ! Ah ! if we had but one little dish — 
whether roast, boiled, or baked I care not — out of their 
plenty ! " 

The father sighed, for he had nothing to give his 
child, and silently ploughed on, when lo ! a miracle 
appears ! There, right in the middle of a furrow, upon 
a napkin of fine white linen, lay a silver dish, heaped 
with roast beef, and beside it a loaf of bread. 

" Hurrah ! long live the generous dwarfs ! " cried 
father and son together. They ate plentifully of the 
substantial meal, and were careful to put the silver 
platter, the knife, fork and napkin back where they 
had been found. By the time, refreshed and vigorous, 
they had made the round of the field again, every one 
of the belongings of the dwarfs had vanished, except- 
ing the damask cloth. This they took hcrtne, as a 
token of luck to come, and for many generations the 
curious little cloth was handed down in Barthel's 
family. From the day of their unexpected feast, 
Barthel and his son prospered in all their enterprises, 
coming in time to be the rich folk of the neighbor- 
hood. 



" That was splendid ! " cried Regi, clapping his 
hands. " Tell us another, can't you ? " 

" I will tell you about the dwarf in search of a lodg- 
ing," said the cuckoo-, pleased with his success. 



i 7 2 THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY, 

One night, during a tremendous storm of wind and 
rain, there came to a village not far from the borders 
of a lake, a grotesque-looking traveller, bent in the 
back till he appeared no taller than a child of seven. 
From house to house he wandered, asking humbly for 
shelter from the storm, his shabby clothes dripping 
with rain, and his limbs trembling from fatigue. " Get 
you gone ! " answered one villager after another, slam- 
ming the door in his face. "We want no vagabonds 
here." 

The weary stranger followed the single village street 
to its end ; and, standing there, was about to launch a 
curse upon the heartless inhabitants, when he espied 
ahead of him a light in the small window of an isolated 
cottage. This was the dwelling of a poor shepherd and 
his wife, upon whose poverty their well-to-do neighbors 
looked down with scorn. Tired and faint, the dwarf, 
leaning on his staff, crept to where he saw the light, 
and tapped modestly three times upon the window. At 
once, the door opened and the shepherd, standing upon 
the threshold, peered into the stormy darkness. 

"Who is there ?" he asked, in a kind voice. "If it 
be a fellow-being abroad in such a night, in heaven's 
name let him come in and partake of the little we can 
give, in the way of food and shelter." 

So saying, he led the traveller to the seat he had just 
vacated by the fire. The wife, bustling about, took the 
streaming cap and mantle off to dry, while she scraped 
together the poor remnants of food and drink the cup- 
board could afford. Truth to tell, what she found 
there was all her husband and herself had expected to 
subsist on next day ; but, giving no thought to the 
morrow, she produced bread, goat's milk, and a rind of 
cheese, and set it before the dwarf. 



THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 173 

" I thank you kindly, good wife," said the stranger, 
sipping a few drops of the milk, and eating a few 
crumbs of bread with a peculiar smile upon his face. 
" My appetite at best is very poor ; but your supper is 
better than a feast, offered, as it is, in such a spirit." 

When he had eaten and drank, the dwarf made her 
put away what remained upon the shelf ; after which, 
walking with surprising agility across the floor, he 
whispered a few words into the cupboard. 

"Be not surprised, my friends," he said. " By to- 
morrow you will see that I am not ungrateful for your 
charity ; " and, taking his cap and staff and mantle, he 
prepared to go away. 

"God forbid that you should leave us," cried the 
worthy pair, in concert. " We will give you our bed, 
and we can easily rest here in chairs beside the fire." 

But the dwarf, shaking his head, would not be per- 
suaded to remain. He went out into the storm, and 
the shepherd, standing upon the sill to look after him, 
fancied he saw a shape, erect and powerful, waving his 
arms with angry gestures toward the sleeping villagers 
below. 

The worthy pair retired to rest, but at break of day 
they were aroused by a furious tempest. Lightning 
flashed through the sky, thunder rolled and crashed 
unceasingly, and torrents of water swept down the 
hills toward the valley. From their window, the shep- 
herd and his wife saw a huge rock break from the 
mountain top above the village, and roll swiftly upon 
the houses beneath, carrying with it tons of earth and 
stones, and an entire forest of trees, torn up by the 
roots. Another moment, and the village, with all that 
it contained, was buried forever from sight. 

Now the lake swelled beyond its boundary, and sent 



174 THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 

great waves higher and higher upon the slope. The 
downward torrent, rushing to meet it, had almost 
reached their cottage door, and the couple, clinging in 
terror to each other, prepared for instant death. What 
was their relief to see, floating down the middle of the 
descending stream that threatened to engulf them, an 
immense rock, astride of which, steering it with the 
trunk of a pine-tree, sat the friendly dwarf to whom, 
the night before, they had given food and shelter. 

" Hallo there, friends ! " he shouted merrily. " Have 
no fear!" ami skilfully he directed the rock till it 
rested against the side wall of the cottage, making a 
breakwater around which the furious current parted, 
to leave the couple and their home in safety. 

As they looked out in astonished thankfulness, they 
beheld the dwarf expand to the size of a monstrous 
giant and vanish in the air. In a short time, while yet 
the shepherd and his wife were singing a hymn of grat- 
itude for their deliverance, the sun shone, the birds 
sang, and the heavens were blue and clear. Of the 
village and its inhabitants, not a sign was seen, the re- 
ceding waters of the lake having carried everything 
away, in token of the dwarfs revenge. When the shep- 
herd's wife went to her cupboard to get the breakfast, 
she found there a whole loaf of excellent brown bread, 
a jug of fresh goat's milk, and a delicious cheese. So 
long as the couple lived, these good things never failed 
them. Eat as bountifully as they might, there was just 
as much as before, when they had finished. 



"Good!" cried Regi, gleefully. "I always think 
'brown loaves of bread/ 'fresh milk,' and 'cottage 
cheese,' sound so nice in books and stories ; but when 



THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 175 

they come to give me nothing else for tea I don't like 
it at all. Why didn't the dwarf put a pot of strawberry 
jam in the cupboard, whilst he was about it ? " 

" It would have been just as easy to him, no doubt," 
answered the cuckoo ; " but perhaps he thought it was 
best not to put new notions into the heads of people 
who were satisfied with what they had. If you are not 
tired of the dwarfs, I have another anecdote for you, 
about the way the little Hill-men came to disappear 
from the neighborhood in which I lived." 

" I am not a bit tired. But first, I want to tell you 
that I know a story a good deal like that one about the 
flood. It's in my Wonder Book, and the couple were 
named Philemon and Baucis, and Quicksilver left them 
grapes and honeycomb to eat. But they lived in 
Greece, I think," said the child, trying to recall his 
scattered memories. 

" I know nothing whatever about them," said the 
cuckoo, rather stiffly. " I simply undertook to give 
you the traditions of my own country, and I have done 
so. Beyond one's own country there is little that is 
interesting, I believe." 

" It's well I don't think that ! " cried Regi, with a 
bright face. " But now for the little Hill-people." 



Time out of mind, as I have said, the ancestors of the 
men who sat at their carving in my native place, had 
been in the habit of receiving from the dwarfs a num- 
ber of friendly services. Sometimes the country peo- 
ple, coming out to their work in the gray of morning, 
would find their fields nicely ploughed, their cows 
milked and driven to pasture, their gardens dug and 
planted ; while the dwarfs, hidden behind the bushes, 



176 THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 

would laugh until their sides ached, at the astonish- 
ment of the rustics. Often they found their corn, as 
yet hardly ripe, cut and stacked ; and while they were 
complaining that it had been harvested too soon, there 
was pretty sure to come on a hail-storm that would as- 
suredly have destroyed the whole crop, had not the 
clever dwarfs looked out for them. Rarely did the lit- 
tle people permit any one to catch a glimpse of them. 
It was a saying in those parts, that if one of the dwarfs 
was seen bent over and gliding by, wrapped in a long 
mantle, sickness or misfortune was soon to strike some 
one in the vicinity. But if anybody chanced to get a 
peep at the Hill-men when, adorned with flowers, and 
carrying green branches, they danced and sported in 
the meadows, it meant a good year for crops, herds and 
game, and general prosperity. As an ordinary thing, 
the peasants avoided trying to spy upon their sprightly 
neighbors ; but as there are always people to make 
mischief in this world by prying, the curiosity of one 
man brought trouble on all the others. 

A certain farmer owned a cherry-tree that was the 
admiration of his friends. Tall, symmetrical, and filled 
with fruit, it stood knee-deep in a field of flax overrun 
with poppies, corn-flowers, and vetches blue and purple, 
that rippled like a sea of blossoms in the summer wind. 
Regularly, every year, when it was time to pick the 
cherries, the farmer found the tree stripped, and the 
fruit spread on benches and boards to dry for the 
winter, excepting that portion of it reserved for imme- 
diate use or sale. Of course this could only be the 
work of the good-natured Hill-men, and nobody in the 
house thought of trying to watch them, except, at last, a 
shepherd lad, recently engaged to work about the place. 
Some gossip had told him that the dwarfs wore long 



THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 177 

trailing mantles to conceal their goose-feet, of which 
they were ashamed ; and the shepherd determined to 
find out the truth of this story for himself. Accord- 
ingly, one July night, when the cherries were about 
ready to be picked, the shepherd crept to the tree and 
strewed the ground beneath with ashes. Hiding be- 
hind a stone, he saw a number of little men in long 
mantles swarm over the tree, denude it of its fruit, and 
then, descending, trip lightly over to the spot where 
the cherries were left to dry. When daylight came, 
sure enough, the ashes beneath the tree were marked 
with goose-feet, and the foolish shepherd, not content 
with having found out the dwarfs' secret, told it far 
and near, with malicious laughter. Needless to say, 
the dwarfs never again came near the farmer's house. 
Next year the cherry-tree failed to bear fruit, the shep- 
herd lad was struck with a grievous sickness, and the 
farmer's luck deserted him. After this occurrence, the 
Hill-people who had frequented that neighborhood, 
are said to have shut themselves up in their under- 
ground abodes, disgusted with mankind. At any rate, 
no one has ever been found who could boast that he 
had seen them, since that night. 



" I don't think they ought to have been angry with 
everybody because of that meddling shepherd," said 
Regi. 

I dare say his was not the only offence. There 
was a report that in one place where the Hill-men were 
in the habit of coming down in parties to watch the 
hay-making, a stupid fellow, discovering that they used 
to perch like so many birds on the limb of a maple- 
tree, to look on, hiding behind the foliage — came by 



178 THE SWISS CLOCK'S STORY. 

night and sawed the branch nearly through. Next 
morning, the dwarfs, suspecting nothing, climbed into 
the tree as usual, and the branch snapped in two, 
throwing them to the ground, and bruising them 
severely." 

" That was mean ! " said Regi. 

" So the dwarfs thought ; and off they went in high 
dudgeon, never showing themselves there again. An- 
other trick, played upon the poor little men, was some- 
what similar. In another neighborhood, where they 
watched the hay-makers in harvest time, they used 
to sit upon a large flat rock. Some mischievous 
people kindled a fire upon the rock, making it very 
hot, and then swept away the ashes. When the dwarfs 
came there and sat down, they were very badly burnt. 
Full of wrath, they cried out that they should be 
avenged, then disappeared for ever." 

" That was pretty bad," remarked the boy ; " but in 
the end, the dwarfs always had the best of it. Oh ! I 
wish I had a dwarf friend to come to see me now and 
then. Don't you ? " 

"Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuc- 
koo ! " was the answer, which Regi rightly interpreted 
to be a sign that his tea was ready ; and however much 
Regi liked to hear about Hill-people, he was generally 
in a healthy state of hunger when six o'clock came. 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S 
STORY. 

" I can't make up my mind," said the little boy, ad- 
dressing himself to an object that lay under glass upon 
a plush cushion, "whether you ought to tell me one 
big story, or a good many little ones." 

Regi's uncertainty arose from the fact that this curio 
was an ancient chatelaine or massive clasp of beaten 
silver, meant to be worn at a lady's girdle, from which 
depended sundry little chains each furnished with a key, 
scissors, thimble, or other silver ornament. Miss Lynch 
had told him that, in mediaeval days in Germany, the 
chief lady of a noble household wore one of these useful 
appendages when going the rounds of her domestic 
duties ; and he had often handled the pretty dangling 
things admiringly. 

" I confess that amid your gossips, who — with the 
single exception of Madame la Marquise, the French 
fan — were peasants, and have been babbling so freely 
about their humble beginnings, I feel decidedly out of 
place ; and whatever I may narrate will have to deal 
with a higher class of society," the chatelaine said, 
loftily. " Perhaps I may recall a legend of the Suabian 
country, as I heard it told to the little counts and 
countesses in my ancestral castle, by their tutor, who 
was fond of ancient stories, and you may call it 'The 
Lady of the Fountain.' " 



180 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

In the immediate neighborhood of Blackpool, in 
Suabia, there once dwelt a valiant knight and doughty- 
freebooter, who was the scourge and terror of all way- 
faring merchants or carriers whose business led them 
in his direction. A terrible fellow was Owlfinger, when 
he took the road. With vizor down, cuirass adjusted 
to his stalwart form, sword girt about his loins, and 
golden spurs tinkling at his heels, his heart became 
like steel to rapine and to bloodshed. In those days, 
many of the nobility took it upon themselves to judge 
of other men's rights to hold property, and as they 
were rich and well supplied with men and arms to 
back them, the question was settled simply enough, by 
the weak giving way to the strong. When the cry 
arose, " Owlfinger is abroad," all Suabia was in a state 
of agitation ; the peasants flocked into the fortified 
towns, and the watchmen at the gates blew their horns 
loud and long, to give warning of danger in the air. 

Quite another person was Owlfinger in his domestic 
character. A loving husband, a kind master, " hospit- 
able as an Arab, and gentle as a lamb," he had been 
styled. As for his wife, the lady Matilda, she was 
a pattern of goodness and amiability. Added to this, 
she was the most industrious of housewives, and, when 
her husband sallied forth upon professional business, 
she would not stand looking at herself in the glass, or 
trying on new clothes, but sat down at her wheel to 
draw the flax out in a thread of wondrous fineness. 
Poor Matilda, though she never lectured her free- 
booting lord, could not resign herself to his dreadful 
habits ; when he brought prisoners gagged and bound 
into the house, she often contrived to set them free, 
after restoring to them as much as she dared of their 
stolen goods. For some years after her marriage, 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 181 

Matilda had no child, which was to her affectionate 
heart a source of continual regret. She thought that, if 
Ovvlfinger had something to make his gloomy castle 
more bright and cheery, he would be more willing to 
give up his wild raids upon the passers-by, or upon 
distant travellers. 

One evening, at the close of a summer's day, when 
she sat waiting her lord's return in her usual state of 
anxiety, Matilda repeatedly sent a page up to where a 
dwarf kept watch upon the tower, to ask if there were 
no sign of Owlfinger's arrival. As the hours passed, and 
not a cloud of dust arose on the horizon, no clatter of 
horses' hoofs was heard upon the road, no wild shouts or 
merry chorus struck the listening ear, Matilda, nervous 
and fearful, determined to go out for a stroll in the 
neighboring woods. Not far from the castle was a 
natural grotto of rocks overgrown with moss and ferns 
and periwinkle, and paved with pebbles that shone like 
precious stones. In the centre of this grotto arose the 
jet of a fountain, springing to the height of several 
feet in a crystal column, falling again into a basin of 
rock, and then running bubbling away, to be lost in the 
heart of the forest. If tradition told the truth, the 
fountain was haunted by a Nix-lady, who watched over 
the fortunes of the inmates of the castle, and who, 
every time they were threatened with disaster, made 
her appearance, to walk hither and thither wringing 
her hands and weeping bitterly. Matilda, who, often 
as she had heard this tale, quite disbelieved it, was 
now terrified to find, sitting at the entrance of the cave, 
the airy form of a woman in distress. 

"This must be the lady of the fountain," she cried, 
dropping upon a mossy rock. " And without doubt, 
some accident has happened to my poor misguided 



182 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

husband. Spite of all his faults I love him tenderly, 
and if he has fallen in conflict I do not wish to survive 
him." 

At this, the phantom threw back a misty veil, reveal- 
ing a lovely, sympathetic face, and in a soft and rip- 
pling voice, she spoke. 

" Do not fear, lady, your husband is safe, and will 
soon return to you. Alas ! that I should have to say 
it, it is you who will be called first away. In a short 
time you will have a daughter, and, after her birth, 
your stay on earth cannot long endure. Many a time 
have I watched you shedding sad tears to mingle with 
my waters ; and I have wished to comfort you, but it 
was not allowed. If I speak now it is to assure you of 
my sympathy, and to offer my protection to your child. 
Be sure that I can be to her a powerful ally, if I am 
but permitted to act as one of her godmothers at the 
christening. Make Owlfinger promise you this before 
you go, and instruct one of your trusted women to 
come to the fountain at the time appointed for the 
christening, and throw in it the pebble I now bestow 
on you." 

Matilda took the pebble dropped into her palm by 
the Nix-lady's cool white fingers, and the vision melted 
from sight. Then the doomed countess retraced her 
steps to the castle, where a hubbub of stamping horses, 
dogs, horns, clank of steel and roistering voices, an- 
nounced the return of Owlfinger, bearing on this occa- 
sion a richer prize than usual. 

In a short time Matilda had a little girl, small as a 
fairy, and exquisitely formed. When Owlfinger came 
in the room to visit his baby, although he would have 
much preferred a boy to bring up to imitate his own 
mode of life, the burly freebooter kissed the infant af- 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 183 

fectionately, asking her mother if there were no boon 
she would favor him by asking. The countess, who 
felt her strength ebbing fast, begged that he would 
permit her to present for the child a godmother of 
her own choosing, without inquiry or remonstrance. 
Owlfinger swore that he would not interfere, " Be it 
the Nix-lady of the fountain herself, whom you select ! " 
A few days later Matilda died, to the astonishment 
and distress of all, including her husband, who declared 
between his sobs that she had always been too good 
for him, or indeed for anybody upon earth. 

When the day of the christening came, the trusted 
maid-servant of the late countess went, according to 
instructions, alone, into the forest, and, casting the 
pebble into the fountain, hurried off, too much fright- 
ened to look back. By the time she reached the castle, 
everybody was talking about a beautiful and splendid 
stranger lady, who had just arrived to be the baby's 
godmother. She had come in a chariot shaped like a 
shell, drawn by horses with sea-green manes and tails. 
Her gown was of shimmering green silk ; and her veil 
of white gauze, dotted all over with seed-pearls, flowed 
to her very feet. Strangely enough, the ladies noticed 
that the hems of her veil and gown were both dripping 
wet, which appeared not to incommode her in the 
least. At sight of this wonderful personage, the dames 
and knights present made way for her to take the 
highest place in the room, bowing profoundly as they 
did so. Owlfinger, his head bent on his breast, and 
wrapped in gloomy thoughts of the departed, paid no 
attention to the new-comer, and the baptismal cere- 
mony at once began. The stranger, taking the baby 
from her nurse's arms, held her before the priest ; and 
when the child's name was asked for, gave it as " Ma- 



i84 THE CERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

tilda." So Matilda the little one became. After the 
ceremony, according to custom, the friends of the 
family passed in order by the child's cradle, laying 
within it their gifts. Many and handsome were the 
presents thus displayed, but when the stranger god- 
mother came, last of all, to bestow her offering, all eyes 
were turned in curiosity to see the magnificent token 
she assuredly would give. Gliding up to the child 
with an undulating step, the unknown lady placed in 
its hand an insignificant ball, made of boxwood, of a 
pattern used to carry about perfumes in the pocket ; 
then, bending to bestow a light kiss upon the infant's 
forehead, she quitted the apartment. Dames and at- 
tendants were equally solicitous to see what the ball 
contained, supposing it held some jewels of extra- 
ordinary rarity. Upon unscrewing it, however, they 
found nothing inside, a fact eliciting several comments 
of a severe nature upon the parsimony of the stranger 
godmother. The nurse put the boxwood ball away in 
a box containing ornaments belonging to her late mis- 
tress, and, in time, the poor little present was forgotten. 
For several weeks, Owlfinger indulged in deep 
gloom over the loss of his wife, even going so far, out 
of respect to her memory, as to give up his favorite 
raids. But in time his load of grief was considerably 
lightened, and, by way of a morning's pastime, he one 
day ordered his horse and followers to be made ready, 
proposing to have a gallop, merely for exercise, in the 
direction of the high road. Returning from this jaunt, 
the reformed freebooter happened to espy a party of 
merchants jogging peacefully along with a heavy con- 
voy of goods before them. Entirely through force of 
habit, Owlfinger, uttering a shout of triumph, dashed 
upon them, killing, wounding, or making prisoners the 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 185 

various members of the party, and possessing himself 
of their treasures. After this, the old life began again, 
and, feeling cheered and buoyant, he bethought himself 
of taking a second spouse. His choice fell on a young 
person in every respect a contrast to the Lady Matilda. 
The new wife was dark and showy, high spirited and 
fond of dress and company. The household, after the 
bride came into it, was entirely remodelled. Nothing 
was heard of but gaiety and extravagance, banquets 
and carousals. As fast as Owlfinger brought home 
fresh stores of booty, his wife wasted them upon her 
pleasures. When she could get hold of nothing more 
from him, she betook herself to ransacking the first 
wife's property, laid aside in chests for the benefit of 
her daughter. To the poor little Matilda, the countess 
took the greatest possible aversion, exiling her with 
her nurse to a remote part of the castle, and ordering 
that the tiresome brat be never allowed to come into 
her presence. Fortunately for Matilda, her attendant 
was a kind, hearty woman, who took good care of her. 
One day, when Matilda was playing with her doll on 
a grass plot beneath the castle windows, a ball flew 
through the air and lighted on the turf at her feet. 
Running to pick it up, she took forthwith, as children 
often do, a great fancy to this simple plaything, carry- 
ing it in her frock all day and sleeping with it clasped 
in her little hand at night. No one knew or cared how 
she came by the trifle, but the fact was that, that 
afternoon, the countess, happening to be in one of her 
rummaging moods, had come across a case of jewels, 
hidden in an old escritoire belonging to her prede- 
cessor. With covetous delight, she turned the contents 
out upon a table, finding there far more than she dared 
to hope for. Sparkling rings, pendants, bracelets, 



1 86 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

lockets, necklaces, all set with valuable diamonds, 
came to view. At the bottom of the casket was a 
wooden ball, which she tried to unscrew, but failed. 
Believing it to be an old and worn-out scent-ball, she 
tossed it disdainfully out of the window, while her 
eager fingers closed upon the new-found treasures. 
These she at once proceeded to convey to her own 
quarters, without asking any questions. 

Little Matilda, carrying her ball, went a few days 
after for a walk with her nurse in the forest. As the 
weather was very warm, the woman took her charge 
into the grotto for refreshment, and, while there, the 
child begged her to go back to the castle in search of 
cake, that they might make a feast. 

" You will promise me not to stir from this spot ? " 
asked the nurse, and Matilda, promising submissively, 
was soon left alone. Taking out her ball she amused 
herself by tossing it in the air, but on the third attempt 
to catch it the ball rolled into the fountain. 

At this the surface of the clear water rippled gently, 
and up rose a woman's form veiled from head to foot 
in shimmering gauze, through whose transparent folds 
the child beheld the loveliest of faces smiling sweetly 
upon her. 

" I am here, dearest little one — I — your own god- 
mother," said the Nix-lady, and her voice had in it the 
music of falling waters. " Here is your ball. Take it, 
and keep it carefully. Never play with it again, for the 
time will come when it shall fulfil for you four of your 
dearest wishes. When you are older, I will explain to 
you much that now you could not understand. But 
this you can readily remember : whenever you want to 
see me, come to this fountain, and cast a pebble into 
the basin, and I shall immediately answer." 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 187 

Matilda, who was an uncommonly quick-witted small 
person, thanked the nymph very prettily, took her ball, 
and promised to obey directions. Thereupon, the lady 
kissed her fondly, and talked to her so delightfully as 
to enchant the little creature. Never had she been 
made so happy by companionship. When the foot- 
steps of the anxious nurse were heard returning 
rapidly, the Nix-lady, saying good-by, melted into the 
foam wreaths of the fountain. 

From that day forth, Matilda contrived many a pre- 
text for visiting the grotto. As this retreat had also 
been her mother's favorite, the nurse was the more 
willing to indulge her charge. Nothing could have 
been more quiet and secluded than the spot, so that 
gradually, Matilda was allowed to go there when she 
wished, alone. * Then, quick as thought, a pebble was 
dropped into the pellucid pool, and up came the Nix 
godmother, always smiling, always gentle, always full 
of charming talk. Gradually, as the years rolled on, 
Matilda, denied by the meanness of her step-mother 
the advantages she should have had, was taught by her 
careful godmother all that was necessary to make her 
an accomplished woman. While the wicked countess 
believed the girl to be growing up as ignorant as a 
kitchen wench, Matilda was, in reality, fit to take her 
place at court, had she been called upon to do so. 

When Matilda had reached the age of seventeen, she 
was the most bewitching of maidens, with the fresh- 
ness of a dew-besprinkled rose. Living as she did 
apart from the rest of the family, she knew little of 
what was going on, but that little was not of a pleas- 
ant nature. Ovvlfinger, from being a gay and gallant 
knight, had become sullen and morose, while his many 
deeds of violence abroad had so outraged the com- 



188 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

munity, that the Suabian authorities determined at last 
to put a stop to them at any price. Although repeat- 
edly warned, he still spent his days in robbery and 
bloodshed, his nights in feasting and drunkenness. 
Instead of restraining her husband, the countess urged 
him to fresh attempts at plunder, in order to supply 
means to gratify her own extravagance. Rumors of 
an intended attack upon the castle were abroad, but of 
these Matilda knew nothing, when, at the close of one 
afternoon, she set out to visit her beloved godmother. 
When she reached the grotto there was no need to 
summon the Nixie, since there she sat, wringing her 
hands and weeping bitterly. 

" Dear godmother, what ails you ? " cried the alarmed 
maiden. 

" Woe to the house of Owlfinger ! " said the nymph, 
in an altered voice. " Have you never heard the tradi- 
tion of the castle ? When danger threatens it, then 
must I be on hand to weep and wail. Go, my poor 
child, and keep watch for the change that is soon to 
come. Whatever betides, hold fast to your ball, and 
when you are in extremity of need, appeal to it. More 
than this I cannot do for you, but mark my warning : 
when the day comes that the women, who are sent 
here to fetch pitchers of water from my spring, find the 
fountain dry, then prepare for danger, and may 
Heaven watch over you ! " 

So saying, she disappeared. Matilda, in great dis- 
tress, called on her to return, in vain. No answer was 
vouchsafed. A few days after, the maidens who went 
out at twilight for water from the fountain, came run- 
ning back, pale and terrified, with empty pitchers in 
their hands reporting that not only had the fountain 
gone dry, but a lady in white sat beside it, wringing 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 189 

her hands and uttering deep sighs. At this news, 
alarm spread over the entire castle, and Matilda, re- 
membering the warning of the nymph, shut herself up 
in her own chamber, uncertain what next to do. That 
same night, a body of troops marched upon the castle, 
and attacked it. Owlfinger, mustering his retainers, 
defended the place valiantly, although aroused from a 
drunken orgie by the call to arms. On both sides the 
cross bowmen sent their deadly shafts flying thick and 
fast ; rams shattered the bastions of the castle, and 
many were the dead and wounded. At length a bolt 
pierced Owlfinger's vizor, and lodged deep in his 
brain. As the terrible freebooter fell dead, a panic 
seized upon his supporters ; they w r avered, and the 
besieging party perceiving this, rallied for a final as- 
sault. Over the walls they clambered, crashing through 
the gate and rushing over the drawbridge, to hoist their 
flag upon the ramparts. The terrified garrison were cut 
to pieces, and the castle was ransacked and set on fire. 
In the end, not one stone of it was left upon another. 

The wicked countess, in trying to escape, fell a vic- 
tim to her own haughty spirit. Refusing to yield, she 
was struck down by a soldier, and her body was cast 
into the moat beside her husband's. From the window 
of her turret chamber, Matilda watched the progress 
of the siege. When smoke and flame drove her forth 
to seek safety, she clasped in her hand the boxwood 
ball, repeating a formula taught her by her god- 
mother, 

"Light before me, shade behind, 
So may I deliverance find." 

Although surrounded by embruted soldiery thirsting 
to destroy every member of the terrible Owlfinger 
family, Matilda passed unseen. Sick of the scene of 



i 9 o THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

carnage, she quickened her footsteps to a run as soon 
as she had reached the wood. How long she fled, she 
knew not, or in what direction. Pausing at nightfall 
beneath the shelter of an oak in an open field, she laid 
herself down, utterly exhausted and despairing, upon 
the turf. Turning her eyes to the quarter from which 
she came,- she beheld the sky red with the lurid glow 
of her burning home. Unable to bear the sight, she 
closed her eyes, and soon fatigue made her drop asleep. 

Before the morning dew had fallen, Matilda, awak- 
ing in affright, remembered where she was. Stagger- 
ing to her feet, she found her way to a neighboring 
cottage, where the woman, a compassionate soul, gave 
her food and milk, and a place to rest in. Matilda de- 
cided to tell her new friend who she was, and to take 
advice from her, since, under present circumstances, 
no offshoot of the house of Owlfinger could hope to go 
at large unmolested. The good woman, pitying her 
sincerely, advised her to put on humble clothing, and 
to seek employment in some family. Matilda's gar- 
ments were sold privately, and with the money thus 
obtained she purchased an outfit of servant's clothes, 
the woman undertaking to find her a situation. 

Unfortunately, at this season, few respectable people 
were found to be hiring servants. Matilda's friend 
could only hear of one house where they were in need, 
and that was the mansion of Count Conrad, a distin- 
guished young knight, chancellor and champion of the 
city of Augsburg, close at hand. During a greater part 
of the year, the count was absent from home, and his 
establishment was under the absolute charge of Frau 
Gertrude, a housekeeper of such shrewish temper that 
no maid could endure life in the same house with her. 
Gertrude was a widow of sixty, with a red nose, a wasp 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 19 r 

waist, wearing a wig of jet black curls, and possessing 
a tongue warranted to scold so long as the unfortunate 
object of her wrath was in hearing. Notwithstanding 
this vicious disposition, the housekeeper was a proverb 
for honesty and neatness. Her industry kept her for 
ever astir, and Count Conrad's house shone with pol- 
ishing and scrubbing, while his meals were excellently 
cooked and served. 

One day, Frau Gertrude had discovered some petty 
offence on the part of her chief housemaid ; and this 
had brought about such a domestic earthquake that, by 
night, every maid in the house had taken leave. It 
was to Gertrude that Matilda, disguised in a coarse 
stuff gown, a hump fastened on her left shoulder, her 
skin stained brown, and her beautiful auburn hair 
hidden under an unbecoming cap, went to ask for em- 
ployment. As soon as the old hag saw her approach 
the door, it was slammed in Matilda's face, with the 
shrill order to begone, as they wanted no idle hussies 
begging at that house. 

" I don't ask for charity, my lady," said Matilda ; " I 
ask for work, and if you try me, you shall see what a 
faithful servant I can be." 

Flattered by this style of address, Frau Gertrude 
pulled the door open, surveying her through the crack. 

" And pray who are you, and whence came you ? " 
she asked, in a milder tone. 

" I am an orphan, my lady, and my name is Matilda ; 

" I'm a stout girl and nimble, 
Can manage the thimble, 
Can spin, card and knit, 
Can handle the spit, 
Can bake, stew and brew, 
Am honest and true, 
And am here to serve you." 



192 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

"You must be a gypsy, with that brown skin," said 
the woman, eyeing her narrowly. 

" If I am so unfortunate as to belong to that race, 
whom nobody will trust, it is all the more reason for 
me to try to please you," persisted the girl. 

So, the end of it was, Matilda was engaged upon the 
spot, a silver shilling was put into her hand as token of 
the bargain made, and she took possession of the 
empty kitchen. Wonderful to relate, Frau Gertrude 
could find no excuse for scolding her. Days passed, 
Matilda did the work of all the departed maids, was 
up early, went to bed late, left no stone unturned to 
please her mistress. Frau Gertrude's tongue grew 
rusty in its hinges ! 

They lived thus quietly during the summer and 
autumn. About the time when the first snow fell, 
preparations began to be made for the arrival of the 
master of the house, who, attended by a troop of idle 
servants, and a train of hounds and horses, returned 
to Augsburg to take up his abode for the winter 
months. Suites of unused rooms were thrown open, 
and, while the rest of the household became gay and 
cheerful, Matilda stayed quietly in her own quarters, 
speaking to nobody unless she were spoken to, and 
working hard to keep up to what was now imposed on 
her. The gypsy-cook, as the others deridingly called 
her, had never seen the master of the house, when, 
going one day to draw water from the well, she acci- 
dentally beheld, crossing the courtyard, a young man of 
surprising beauty and elegance. His manly form and 
martial bearing were contradicted by the long fair locks 
flowing upon his shoulders, and the boyish sweetness 
of his smile. Matilda found herself gazing after him, 
until the jug nearly slipped from her hand. What 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY, 193 

was it, that for the first time made her realize her 
degraded position, and sigh for the beauty she now 
kept under a cloud ? While musing thus, she spilt the 
contents of the salt-cellar into the soup, bringing down 
on her a sharp rating from Frau Gertrude. From that 
day forth, Matilda's peace of mind had vanished utterly. 
Whenever she heard the sound of spurs in the court- 
yard, she ran to the window, and, for some reason, she 
was always fetching water from the well. 



"Oh, I know the reason," interposed Regi, beam- 
ingly ; " Matilda was badly mashed." 

" You speak in an unknown tongue," said the chate- 
laine, coldly. " Pardon me if I suggest that I don't 
like interruption." 

" Thomas says that, when the laundress goes to the 
back door to see the coachman," said the little boy, 
abashed. 



Matters continued thus, during the chief part of a 
very gay season. Count Conrad went from tilt to 
tournament, from feast to ball. Owing to successful 
commerce with wealthy Venice, Augsburg had now 
increased in luxury and splendor. Matilda, alone in 
her smoky kitchen, wept over the memory of past rank 
and fortune, although from infancy her lot had been 
a hard one. As the child of the outlawed Owlfinger, 
she had no hope of ever being received among her 
equals in birth and position. It was as well for her to 
remain a lowly cook-maid, sighing out her heart for 
love of the handsomest cavalier of the country, who 
had not so much as deigned to look at her in passing ; 
13 



i 9 4 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

although, in her innocence, Matilda had no suspicion 
of the true nature of her feelings for her master, until 
circumstances brought about their meeting. 

In compliment to the Emperor Frederic, upon the 
birth of his son, Prince Maximilian, the citizens of 
Augsburg had, about this time, made ready a sumpt- 
uous festival, designed to continue during three days. 
Every day was to see a tournament, every evening a 
banquet and a ball. In these rejoicings, Conrad was 
everywhere the first object of attention, riding, danc- 
ing, singing better than any other knight present 

On the evening of the first banquet, Matilda felt as 
if she could not endure the grimy solitude of her 
kitchen. Making a desperate effort, she resolved 
to test the power of her boxwood ball. When the 
kitchen was nicely swept, she retired to her own little 
garret at the top of the house ; and, after a bath which 
removed every trace of her tawny complexion, reveal- 
ing the lilies and roses of her natural skin more 
brilliant than before, she took the scent-ball in her 
hand, wishing for a new gown as elegant as fancy 
could devise. On unscrewing the top, there glided 
from within a mass of shimmering stuff, expanding and 
gushing like a stream of water into her lap. This, 
upon examination, proved to be a robe of pale green 
gauze, embroidered with silver coral, and looped with 
rosy shells. After it, came a garland of shells and sea- 
weed for the hair, with a necklace and bracelets of 
oriental pearls. Next, fan, shoes, gloves and other 
necessary articles disclosed themselves ; and Matilda, 
giving a little scream of girlish rapture, hastened to 
try the effect of her new possessions. When she was 
fully dressed, her tiny looking-glass revealed a beauty 
who might have sat beside the emperor. In feverish 




She stole down the long flight of quiet stairs to the streets. 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE' S STORY. 195 

haste, she stole down the long flight of quiet stairs to 
the streets, while rolling in her hand the boxwood 
ball and whispering the spell : 

" Light before me, shade behind, 
So may I my true love find." 

Not a sound was heard, except the deep breathing 
of slumbering folk, the snore of the porter at the door, 
and the disturbed movements of a watch-dog, all of 
whom owned the Nixie's power, and slept profoundly, 
while Matilda passed out into the street. Unseen by 
passers-by, and by the lacqueys at the entrance of 
the banquet-hall, she drew near the scene of festivity, 
stepping into the ball-room with the air of one of the 
Graces. At once, a loud murmur of admiration ran 
through the company, which separated to give passage 
to the lovely damsel. Plumed heads were tossed into 
the air, silks rustled, diamonds flashed, in the effort to 
gain a peep at her. Foremost in the throng pressed 
the noble Count Conrad, who, in a suit of rose and 
silver, was himself as beautiful as a picture. Bending 
his knee, he asked the honor of Matilda's hand in the 
dance just forming. ( Matilda consented, and her airy 
lightness enchanted every one. Conrad, enamored at 
first sight, continued by her side during the remainder 
of her stay. He tried in every way to find out who she 
was ; but she eluded him, promising, however, that she 
would be present at the ball of the ensuing night. 
Soon, the rumor got abroad that this bewitching 
stranger was the child of one of Count Conrad's oldest 
allies, and many sought the honor of her acquaintance ; 
but at the close of the dance she had vanished, no one 
knew where. The truth was that Matilda, holding her 
magic ball, had glided down the palace stairway saying, 



196 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

" Light before me, shade behind, 
So may I deliverance find ;" 

by which means, she passed unseen back to her cham- 
ber, although the streets were filled with envoys, 
stationed there by the count to see where his fair 
partner should go. It was daybreak when, with tremb- 
ling fingers, Matilda took off her finery, conceal- 
ing it in her box, and resumed her mean disguise. 
Frau Gertrude, finding her cook stirring so early, gave 
her an ungracious compliment upon her active habits, 
when she looked in to see if Matilda were busy about 
the breakfast. 

As for Count Conrad, returning home soon after, he 
threw himself upon his bed, overwhelmed with impa- 
tience for the time which should bring him face to face 
again with the lady of his admiration. Falling asleep 
at length, he arose at a late hour of the afternoon, and 
was disappointed to find that still several hours must 
elapse before the opening of the festivities. At the 
earliest moment when he could with propriety be 
present, Conrad appeared in the banquet-hall, keeping 
an eye upon the door. 

It was Matilda's business to attend to the duties of 
her kitchen before she could possibly consider the at- 
tractions of the toilet ; and it was only after scouring 
her pots, kettles and pans that she retired as before to 
the bath, emerging in fresher loveliness. Turning over 
her magic ball, she wished for a gown of rose pink, the 
count's favorite color. Out came a flowing tide of 
softest pink satin covered with lace like frost-work. A 
chaplet of pink roses, and a necklace of pink topaz 
completed the outfit, which Matilda put on with de- 
light, practising the step of the dance in her garret- 
room before setting out. By the help of her talisman, 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 197 

she reached the ball as before ; there Count Conrad 
received her, leaning upon whose arm, she made the 
circuit of the ball-room followed by all eyes. The 
evening passed gayly, but when she bade him farewell 
as before, Count Conrad, who was now desperately in 
love, led Matilda into a side room and implored her to 
tell him her real name and estate, as he was desirous of 
asking her in marriage of her parents. 

" Alas ! count," said Matilda, in a melancholy voice, 
" if I answered you, it would certainly separate us for- 
ever. Only one thing can I tell you : I am an orphan, 
without friends." 

" No matter who and what you are, then," answered 
Conrad ; " I am ready to marry you at once, even if you 
are the meanest kitchen-maid in my employment. In 
proof of what I say, take this ring belonging to my an- 
cestors, and when you are ready to accept my love, re- 
store it to me. In the meantime, honor me by appear- 
ing at my house at an entertainment I am designing to 
give in your honor on Tuesday next." 

He pressed the ring upon her finger, when Matilda, 
afraid to trust herself longer, broke away from him, 
and, thanks to the magic ball, disappeared at once. 
Remembering that Count Conrad had belonged to the 
party of those noblemen who had denounced her 
father as an outlaw and a thief, she realized the folly of 
what she had done. Going back to her lonely room, 
she cried all night, wondering what course her duty 
required her to take. Next day, she asked Frau Ger- 
trude to allow her to give up her situation in the 
kitchen. 

" Give up, now ! " shrieked Gertrude. " Just when 
it is whispered that my master is to be married to a 
beautiful heiress with whom he has danced two 



198 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

evenings at the ball. The town is ringing with it. 
Certain it is our orders are to prepare for a splendid 
party at which he expects her presence, on Tuesday- 
next ; and I'd like to know who's to share the work with 
me, if you take yourself off, ungrateful creature ?" 

So Matilda remained to carry out the arrangements 
for her own party. Confectioners' men and pastry 
cooks in their white caps took possession of the 
premises ; game and fowls, venison and fish, sweets 
and rare wines, were procured in abundance. Nothing 
was too grand for this feast, according to the master's 
orders. 

On the appointed night, when the mansion was ablaze 
with lights, and music was playing, Count Conrad, in 
his richest attire, stood receiving his guests. All the 
nobility were present, and, from time to time, all eyes 
turned toward the door, since report said this fete was 
given in honor of a guest, who would that night be pre- 
sented to his friends as the betrothed of Conrad. But 
time passed, and there was no appearance of the lovely 
stranger. The young count's bright face was visibly 
overclouded. His gayety forsook him, and he with- 
drew from the dance in gloomy silence. When supper 
was announced, the host could not be found ; and a 
little while later the ball broke up, amid murmurs of 
surprise and discontent from the retiring guests. So 
violent was the count's disappointment at Matilda's 
failure to accept his invitation, that he took to his bed 
with a fever, which before morning made him seriously 
ill. In the course of twenty-four hours, several of the 
best doctors of the place were consulting over him, un- 
able to decide as to the cause of his malady, which 
grew rapidly more alarming. At this crisis Matilda, 
who, in her lowly position, hearing what was passing in 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 199 

the quarters of her master, suffered from acute anxiety, 
begged Frau Gertrude to allow her to make a soup, of 
which the recipe had been bequeathed her by her 
mother. 

" Three spoonfuls of this broth will assuredly restore 
your master to health," she said, " since it is compounded 
of simples of a nature known only in our family. Try 
it, I pray you, and you will see an immediate good re- 
sult." 

The old housekeeper, who had come to have some 
confidence in her subordinate, decided to make the 
trial, and shortly afterward, entering the count's room 
with a covered bowl from which rose a delicious odor, 
urged him to taste a few spoonfuls of its contents. 

Poor Conrad was too ill to remonstrate. Rather 
than be talked to death outright, he submitted to her 
treatment. Uncovering the bowl, he beheld at the 
bottom of the clear soup his own ring. In an instant, 
he sat up in bed, with a new fire in his eye, emptying 
the bowl before he would part with it, and then con- 
triving to abstract the ring without notice from Frau 
Gertrude. 

" Who made this good soup, that thus restores me to 
life and hope ? " he inquired, anxiously. 

" Your own cook, your highness," said Gertrude ; " a 
poor gypsy girl I picked up from the street some 
months ago, who has turned out much better than I 
could have hoped." 

" Bring her here at once, that I may thank her," 
said the knight. 

" That I must refuse you," answered the old woman, 
" since the very sight of her ugly face would make you 
ill again. She's a humpback, browner than a coffee 
berry, and in every way repulsive." 



200 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

> 

"Do as I bid you ! " shouted the knight ; and Frau 
Gertrude, in alarm, ran to the kitchen with his order, 
while he hastily arose from his couch, and prepared to 
receive his visitor in the adjoining room. 

" Here, take the veil I wear to mass, and cover your- 
self with it, head and heels," she said to Matilda. 
" Keep yourself in the shade near the doorway, and 
perhaps he may not notice you." 

11 Let me have time only to make myself a little more 
tidy," urged the girl ; and, running swiftly to her little 
room, she removed the stains as before, putting on the 
rose-colored satin the count had so much admired, and 
covering all with Frau Gertrude's veil. Thus concealed, 
she entered the reception room with a faltering step. 

" Tell me at once, my good girl, how you came by 
the ring you served in my bowl of soup ? " he asked, in 
the tone of one accustomed to be obeyed. 

" Noble knight," came the answer, in a modest voice, 
" it was from your own hands that I received it, on the 
evening we danced together. Now that you know my 
humble station, judge if I should have done right to 
accept your offers. I have come to bid you farewell, 
and to thank you for the shelter of your home." 

" I care not whether you be kitchen-maid or count- 
ess," cried the knight, " your voice arouses all my love 
for you." 

"Then there is another reason," said she, sighing 
deeply. " Know, count, that I am the daughter of the 
outlaw Owlfinger." 

Matilda then told her story in full, and, when she had 
finished speaking, threw back her veil, revealing her 
pale but lovely face, and extended her hand to take 
leave. 

Taking her hand in his, Count Conrad placed on it 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 201 

the family ring, vowing that she and none but she 
should be his bride. 

" It was my father, not. I, who cherished such hatred 
against the ill-fated Owlfinger, and that hatred has de- 
scended to his widow, who fortunately lives at a great 
distance from us, else I should fear for you her dis- 
pleasure, should she find out your origin." 

Summoning Frau Gertrude, who stood without, the 
count then commended to her care his bride to be, 
giving orders for the celebration of the wedding that 
self-same day. When Gertrude saw, instead of her de- 
formed kitchen-maid, a beautiful lady in trailing lace 
and satin emerge from the room, the old woman tum- 
bled backward in astonishment, fracturing her leg, and 
having to walk from that day forth with a crutch — 
w r hich did not improve her temper, be it said. 

The w r edding took place, and the only drawback to 
Matilda's happiness w T as the angry opposition of Con- 
rad's mother, who, arriving, coaxed and threatened him 
vigorously, in the effort to make him renounce the pro- 
ject of marriage with Owlfinger's daughter. Finding 
that it did no good, the dowager went off in a rage to 
her distant castle, declaring she would find means to 
punish the audacious bride and groom, before many 
years should be allowed them to defy her. 

A year had passed, when Conrad announced to his 
wife that he had built a summer residence on an estate 
owned by him, in a neighborhood possibly familiar to 
her. Matilda guessed this to be the vicinity of her old 
home, and she was not disappointed, on alighting from 
the chariot at the end of a long drive, to find herself in 
a beautiful house, overlooking the site of the burned 
castle, and adjoining the wood of the Nix-lady's grotto. 
As soon as she could get off unobserved, she flew to 



202 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

the fountain, whose clear waters again filled the basin, 
dropping a pebble into it with an eager hand. Alas ! 
no sign of her cherished godmother ! Matilda waited 
for a while, then cast into the water her box-wood ball. 
Still no response, and, shedding tears of disappointment 
at the failure of her talisman, she retraced her steps 
homeward. A short time after this, Matilda was blessed 
with a boy more beautiful than a little Cupid, and the 
picture of health and strength, who was consigned to 
the charge of a nurse sent by Conrad's mother, and 
received by the young couple as a token that her wrath 
was passing away. For some days, joy reigned su- 
preme in the home of Conrad and Matilda. The young 
mother, who adored her child, and who could not be 
satisfied to have him out of her sight for a moment, in- 
sisted he should be allowed to sleep in a gilded cradle 
by her side. One night, when the house was buried in 
profound slumber, the mother, awaking, stretched out 
her hand to feel for the child, who was not there. 
Calling to the nurse, she asked anxiously if she had 
taken it to her room, as sometimes happened. 

" Not I, madam," said the nurse, running quickly. 
" Can it be that the blessed babe has rolled upon the 
floor ? " 

They searched everywhere, but found no trace of the 
infant, and the nurse, going into violent hysterics, de- 
clared it could be none but the grand griffin, a bogie 
believed in throughout the countryside, who had carried 
off their treasure. Poor Conrad and Matilda spent 
months in trying to find a clew to the mystery, which 
remained inscrutable. For a year they mourned their 
babe, and at the end of that time, a second beautiful 
son was sent to cheer their solitude. The third night 
after the arrival of the baby, Matilda, awaking, called 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 203 

again to the nurse, and behold, the child was gone as 
before, and this in spite of the fact that the anxious 
mother had chained him to her side with a golden chain 
of which the links were wrenched apart. Poor Matilda 
fainted away, and the count, in a transport of indigna- 
tion, drew his sword upon the nurse. 

" Wretched woman," he cried in a voice of thunder, 
" Did I not order you to watch while others slept, and 
never to let the child and his mother repose unprotected 
by your presence ? If it be the grand griffin who has 
again despoiled us, you could have frightened him 
away by your cries. It was your fault that we are again 
childless, and your life shall pay the forfeit." 

" O mercy, mercy, my lord count," cried the woman 
upon her knees. " Never had I thought to reveal to 
you all I know about this dark tragedy. But to save 
my life, I will speak. Only take me into a private 
room, where no mortal ear may overhear the tale." 

Conrad granted her request, and when they were 
alone the woman informed him that his wife, his be- 
loved Matilda, was a sorceress, who had sacrificed her 
children to the grand griffin, in order to extort from 
him the secret of imperishable beauty. 

"Long before you met her," added the nurse, "it 
was well known that Owlfinger's daughter was in 
league with spirits of evil. From her cradle she has 
held a charm that will summon them at will. Take my 
advice, count, and give her up to be dealt with by the 
hand of justice, before greater wrong be done to you." 

Conrad turned pale as death, and then, as the 
memory of what Matilda had told him about her Nix 
godmother returned to him, he staggered out of the 
room, to shut himself in his own apartments, where for 
some days he brooded in wretched silence. Do what he 



204 THE GERM A 1ST CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

could, it was not possible to shake off the belief in Ma- 
tilda's guilt ; and, after a time, he decided to take leave 
of his unfortunate wife, surrendering her to the au- 
thorities to be dealt with as a sorceress — for in those 
days the dread of witchcraft sundered the closest ties 
of family affection. 

No sooner had Count Conrad left the castle, than 
the officers of justice came to arrest Matilda. Cast 
into a dungeon, she was taken out only to be tried, and 
condemned to a painful death. No sympathy was felt 
for her, since all believed the nurse's story. Conducted 
into a room made of iron, she experienced a stifling 
heat, which at every moment grew more intense. Fall- 
ing upon a couch, she uttered a plaintive cry, repeat- 
ing over and over again, " Conrad, I die innocent," 
when out of her dress rolled the forgotten magic ball, 
whose powers she had believed to be exhausted. 

" Help me, godmother, I implore you ! " she ex- 
claimed despairingly. 

The ball, striking the floor, burst apart, and from it 
arose a cloud of cooling vapor that in an instant filled 
the room. Instead of the previous burning heat, an 
atmosphere like that of the forest grotto was felt. The 
cloud of mist, parting, disclosed a familiar form robed 
and veiled in wavering robes of white, bedewed with 
water-drops. The Nix-lady, as beautiful as ever, stood 
before her godchild, and oh, joy ! in her arms she held 
two lovely boys, one crowing and smiling, the other a 
sleeping infant. 

" My children ! " cried Matilda, in accents of purest 

joy- 

" Yes, Matilda, I have come to restore to you these liv- 
ing pledges of your innocence. Lucky for you that you 
did not exhaust the fourth wish of your scent ball, for, 



THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 205 

through its power, I am now able to relieve you. 
Listen while I tell you who is the real author of your 
woes, your secret, unsparing enemy. It is the mother 
of your husband, who, in her desire to bring about your 
downfall, devised this plot. The lying nurse was, by 
her, instructed to swear against you. On each occasion 
when the baby disappeared, it was stolen from your 
side by that wretch, who, running to the fountain, cast 
the little innocent into the water, meaning to drown it. 
These arms received my dear Matilda's children, and 
cared for them as for my own. Take your darlings, 
and henceforth be happy. Though the power of the 
scent ball passes away hereby, you will have no more 
occasion to wish for my aid, since love, peace and all 
earthly blessings shall henceforth be yours. And now, 
my love, farewell. Having accomplished all I can do 
for you, I may visit you no more.'* 

Leaning over, the Nix-lady kissed her goddaughter 
upon the forehead, gave her blessing to the infants, and 
vanished as she had come. At this moment was heard 
without the galloping of a horse. The rider was Con- 
rad, who, unable to bear the torture of his thoughts 
about Matilda, had returned to stop the execution of 
her sentence at any risk. 

" Is she yet alive ? " he asked, rushing up to the 
prison door, with trembling footsteps. 

" A miracle has been worked, my lord count ! " said 
the executioners. " In spite of the great fire we have 
kept up, the walls of the cell have become cold, and 
instead of cries from within, we have heard the mur- 
mur of sweet voices, and the sound of a mother talking 
to her babes. Indeed, my lord, we dare not go in to 
see." 

With frantic haste, Conrad unbarred the doors of the 



206 THE GERMAN CHATELAINE'S STORY. 

cell, and saw his wife, his own Matilda, smiling and un- 
hurt, holding her children in her arms ! 

When he had heard her story, Count Conrad could 
hardly contain his rage. Ordering the nurse to be 
brought before him, he read guilt in her terror-stricken 
face, and the wretched creature, falling on her knees, 
confessed the plot. She was at once condemned to 
suffer the same death that had awaited the Countess ; 
but at Matilda's request the sentence was changed to 
imprisonment for life in a distant dungeon. 

To the end of their days, Conrad and his Countess 
were prosperous and happy. Their boys grew up to 
be famous knights, the pride of their country, and the 
glory of their noble house. 



"That was a funny kind of an oven ; and I don't think 
Conrad was nice, at all, for ever believing the nurse, 
and then deserting his wife," was Regi's sole remark 
during some moments. Presently he gave a loud por- 
tentous yawn, remarking : 

"I wish they'd give me something besides those ever- 
lasting old baked apples for my tea." 

The aristocratic chatelaine, feeling rather mortified, 
made no reply ; not even when, by-and-by, he requested 
to know what became of Conrad's wicked mother. 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

"My home was in Provence, in France," began, with- 
out prelude, a quill pen of unpretending aspect. "As 
candor and open speaking are the order of the day, I 
may state that I belonged to the stock and fixtures of 
a village shop in a place that shall be nameless. One 
day, seized by a poet in a moment of inspiration, I 
composed part of an epic that afterward became fa- 
mous. The poet went back to live in his cottage home, 
and I, with the ink left to dry upon me, was thrown 
aside — the fate of genius ! Before long, however, some 
Americans, who, I will do them the justice to say, were 
very decent kind of people, came travelling our way. 
They were full of admiration for the person I spoke of 
(though I leave it to you to decide whether it was he, 
or I, who did the work !) ; and they rummaged in every 
corner of the village, to secure some memento of him. 
My q*vner parted with me for a five franc piece, and I 
went into the writing-case of an enthusiastic lady, who 
afterward sent me as a present to your papa, her 
brother in America. Well, it is good to travel and see 
the world, I suppose, but I often lie here listening to 
your winter storms, and wish myself back again in my 
old home, where the mistral sweeps through the pines 
upon the hill tops, making the windmills creak mourn- 
fully, and the red tiles of the old roofs scatter like au- 
tumn leaves." 



208 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

" What is the mistral ? " asked Regi. 

" It is a northwest wind peculiar to our region, that 
in winter blows over the western basin of the Mediter- 
ranean Sea ; a wind so dry and fierce and blustering, as 
to be the dread of natives and visitors alike. But ah ! 
one forgives much for the sake of the land of poetry 
and old romance ! Once ours was the garden-spot of 
France, where the rose grew, and the olive, and the 
vine ; where nuts dropped from the trees, and delicious 
fruits might be gathered by the hand of every passer- 
by — a land of fertile plains, watered by winding rivers, 
and guarded by frowning mountains — the adopted home 
of Petrarch, the birthplace of green-robed Laura with 
her crown of violets." 

" Hello !" said Regi, as if he were hailing an omni- 
bus. " Aren't you getting along a little fast for me ? I 
don't think I know anything about those people you 
spoke of last." 

" He, Petrarch, was a brother poet," the pen said, 
modestly, " although he preceded me by several cen- 
turies. Laura was the lady of his love, in whose honor 
he wrote upward of a hundred sonnets." 

"What are sonnets ?" the boy persisted. 

" Oh ! dear, if I'm to stop to explain everything. A 
sonnet is a short poem of fourteen lines, the rhymes 
arranged " 

"Well, you may skip that," said Regi. 

" I thought so ! As I was going on to say, in Prov- 
ence the country folk speak a sort of French you would 
think very droll. But it was once the language of kings 
and queens ; and the old troubadours made lovely songs 
in it. The poet who claimed my epic, by the way, writes 
verses in Provencal, and people make a great deal of 
unnecessary fuss over them, I think. The best way to 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 209 

get at Provencal ballads and stories is to visit the red- 
roofed farm-houses, at evening when the work is done, 
when autumn has sprinkled the earth with a mantle of 
hoar-frost. Then the peasants like to gather around the 
fireside and chat, while the mulled wine is passed from 
hand to hand — or they attend the village festivals, when 
bonfires and colored lanterns gleam in the public square 
and a giddy circle of dancers forms in answer to the 
call of tambourines. And from the shepherds, too, 
who at the first hint of summer weather, drive their cat- 
tle up into the high hill pastures, themselves to lie at 
ease upon the rich grass, wrapped in their mantles of 
crimson serge, exchanging gossip by the light of the 
stars, you may gain a store of information. It was from 
one of these honest cowherds (he dropped in at my 
master's shop, to secure our services to write out some 
rhymes made in honor of a pretty black-eyed daughter 
of the mill), that I chanced to hear about the sad fort- 
unes of Monsieur Seguin's goat, or to speak more 
properly, ' La cabro de mousso Seguin.' " 

" Please don't speak more properly then, for I 
shouldn't understand you, and I'm getting interested," 
said the little boy. 

" To be incomprehensible is a poet's privilege," re- 
marked the pen, proudly. "This little story is a 
favorite in our neighborhood." 



Monsieur Seguin had bad luck with his goats. At 
least six of them, in turn, had disappeared, after the 
same fashion. Morning after morning he would awake 
to find another halter snapped, another goat off to the 
mountain top, to be gobbled by the wolf. Nothing 
could restrain these naughty creatures from running 
14 



210 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

away to meet their untimely fate. Give them liberty 
or death, said they, and the poor master was in despair. 

"It's all up with me," said he, gloomily. " I used to 
have a knack of attaching them to me. But now I 
might as well retire from the goat-keeping business 
altogether." 

However, he took heart, and the next market day 
bought another — a little beauty named Blanquette — 
quite young and teachable, who, he thought, might be 
influenced by love. I imagine you never saw such a 
handsome goat as she was. She had long, snowy, 
silken hair, with striped horns, hoofs polished till they 
shone like jet, a pretty little beard, and eyes as soft as 
velvet. Then Blanquette was so docile, so gentle in all 
her ways. She would stand perfectly still to be milked, 
and no one ever caught her putting her foot into the 
pail! 

Behind Monsieur Seguin's house, was a little pad- 
dock hedged in with honeysuckle in full bloom. In 
this pleasant spot, Blanquette was tethered, upon the 
smooth grass, near a stream of running water. She 
had a cord long enough to enable her to roam at will 
over the enclosure, and from time to time kind Mon- 
sieur Seguin came to see if all went well. For a 
while Blanquette thought herself the happiest little 
goat in the world. There was nothing she could ask 
for more, as she strayed about, cropping the sweet 
grass, or drinking the cool water. Naturally enough, 
Monsieur Seguin was delighted. "At last," he said, 
"at last, I have secured one who will be contented ! " 

One day, however, Blanquette found herself gazing 
over the hedge, at the distant mountains. 

" How nice it must be to live up yonder ! " she 
thought. " How delightful to gambol about in the 



, THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES, 211 

heather, without this hateful cord to scratch one's 
neck, or to trip one up at unexpected moments ! A 
paddock is meant for an ox or an ass to graze in. A 
goat now, especially one as young and nimble as my- 
self, should roam at large." 

From that hour the grass in her paddock appeared 
to her dry and tasteless. She grew dissatisfied and 
thin, ceasing to give rich milk, and fell into a trick of 
straining at her cord, turning her head in the direction 
of the mountain, with distended nostrils and mournful 
eyes, while uttering a pitiful " Me-e-e-e," that resounded 
far and near. Good Monsieur Seguin saw that some- 
thing ailed her, but, not knowing the cause, was at his 
wit's end to make her satisfied. One morning, when he 
had finished milking, he was surprised to have his goat 
turn around, and address him in the patois of the 
country. 

" My good Monsieur Seguin, I am tired to death of 
living with you," she said ; "if you will only allow me 
to make an excursion to the mountain." 

" Good gracious ! " exclaimed the stupefied master, 
dropping his pail of milk, and spilling every drop. 
When he had in some degree recovered from his sur- 
prise, he sat down in the grass, and addressed her coax- 
ingly. 

" Blanquette, my dear pretty little Blanquette, you 
want to run away from me ? " 

" Yes, Monsieur Seguin," replied Blanquette. 

" Haven't you grass enough, Blanquette ? " 

"Yes, Monsieur Seguin," replied Blanquette. 

" Is your cord too short — or too long ? " 

"No, Monsieur Seguin." 

"Then, if you've nothing to complain of, I declare I 
don't know what you do want." 



212 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. - 

"I want to go up to the mountain, Monsieur Seguin." 

" But, you little goose, don't you know there's a big, 
fierce wolf, up there? What would you do, if he came 
along, forsooth ? " 

" I'd butt him, Monsieur Seguin," meekly replied 
Blanquette. 

" The wolf would laugh at your horns. He has di- 
gested many a bigger goat than you are. Have you 
never heard of my Renaude, the great, fierce, strong 
mother-goat, who strayed away last year ; how she 
fought with the wolf all night, and was eaten by him 
in the morning ? " 

" Renaude ! you don't say so, Monsieur Seguin ? 
That was really a pity ! But, if you please, I'd like to 
go to the mountain all the same, Monsieur Seguin." 

" Heaven send me patience ! " cried Monsieur Se- 
guin, "what has bewitched my goats ? Well, if there's 
no persuading you, Blanquette, I'll resort to stronger 
measures. I'll save you, despite yourself, you wilful 
creature. You shall be locked up in the dark stable, 
and there you shall remain." 

And with this he led her, bleating piteously, into a 
pitch-black stable, where, turned loose in an empty stall, 
she was locked in, and left to her own devices. 

Unfortunately for Monsieur Seguin, he had forgotten 
an open window, hidden behind a pile of loose hay. 
Blanquette, springing lightly up upon the hay, leaped 
to the ground outside, and was off in the twinkling of 
an eye ! 

When the pretty white goat reached the mountain- 
top, all nature smiled on her. Never had the old fir- 
trees seen anything so dainty. They received her like 
a little queen. The chestnuts bowed down to caress 
her with the tips of their branches. The furze opened 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 213 

its golden blossoms upon her path, smelling as sweet 
as it possibly could. It was a perfect festival ! 

And now, was there ever a goat so happy ? No more 
cord, no stake, no hedge ; nothing to prevent her gam- 
bolling and munching where she pleased. What grass 
grew on the mountain side ! It was up to one's very 
horns. And what a flavor it had, so full of fine, succu- 
lent plants she had never seen before — quite another 
thing from the short turf of the paddock. As to flowers, 
one couldn't number them — from great bluebells, and 
purple fox-gloves filled with dew, down to a maze of 
tiny wild-flowers, overflowing with intoxicating juices ! 

Gay little Blanquette, half-tipsy with delight, rolled 
over on her back in a bed of blossoms, kicking up her 
heels, and then slid down the slope, carrying with her 
a mass of dead leaves and chestnut-burs. Next, she 
regained her four feet and looked about her. Hurrah ! 
off she goes, head down, over hill and knoll, now up on 
a peak, now down a ravine, here, there, everywhere, in 
a merry race. You would have said there were twenty 
goats, instead of one belonging to poor Monsieur Se- 
guin, turned loose upon the mountain-side ! With a 
bound, she sprang over the bed of a rushing torrent, 
to emerge, dripping wet with spray of a cascade, and 
lie, to dry herself, at full length on a flat rock in the 
sun. Once, coming out upon the verge of a cliff, 
munching a flower of the trefoil as she ran, Blanquette 
espied, far away in the valley beneath, the familiar cot- 
tage of Monsieur Seguin, with her well-remembered 
paddock in the rear. 

" How very little it is," she said, laughing merrily. 
" How could it ever have contained me ? " 

At the height on which she stood, the silly creature 
thought herself quite as big as the whole round world ! 



214 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

Well, the hours wore on delightfully. In the course of 
her rambles, toward midday, the little runaway fell in 
with a troop of chamois who were lunching on a wild 
vine. Blanquette, in her beautiful snowy coat, made a 
decided sensation in their ranks. They* received her 
politely, all insisting on making way for her to reach 
the best place at the vine, the younger ones showing 
her especial gallantry. 'Tis even whispered — though I 
give this for what it is worth — that Blanquette flirted 
considerably with a handsome young chamois dressed 
in glossy black. They roamed together in the woods 
for awhile, and if you want to know what they actually 
said to each other, I must refer you to some of those 
eavesdropping little brooks that are wont to run off 
under the long grass, prattling as they go. 

All at once, the wind freshened. A violet haze seemed 
to settle on the mountain. Evening had come, and the 
stray goat stopped short in astonishment to gaze about 
her. A sea of mist filled the valley beneath, and of her 
late residence she could only catch a peep of the roof 
with a curling pillar of smoke. She heard the bells of 
a herd of cattle driven homeward ; and, somehow or 
other, it made her feel sad. A gerfalcon returning to 
his leash swooped near her, brushing her with his 
wings. Then she heard, afar off in the mountains, a 
long mournful howl that made her tremble. 

" Hoo ! hoo ! hoo ! " was the sound. 

Could this be the wolf, to whom not once before 
during that enchanting day had the foolish little goat 
given a thought ? At the same moment, a horn sound- 
ed in the valley, and she knew it was her kind master 
who was making a final effort to recall the wanderer. 

"Hoo ! hoo ! " was repeated on the mountain. 

" Come back ! come back ! " echoed in the valley. 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 215 

Blanquette had almost made up her mind to scamper 
home, when the idea of her cord, her stake, and her 
honeysuckle hedge rose before her. No, she could not 
return to bondage after freedom ! It was really im- 
possible ! 

Then the horn ceased to blow, and behind her she 
heard a stealthy rustling in the foliage. Turning ab- 
ruptly around, she saw in the shadow two shining eyes, 
with two short ears cocked forward. 

There was the huge motionless creature, his tail 
tucked under him, seated glaring at his prey. As he 
knew very well that he should get her finally, he was in 
no particular hurry. He was satisfied to pass his ugly 
red tongue over his chops, and occasionally to clash his 
teeth, while laughing at the idea that he had in his 
power the last of Monsieur Seguin's goats. 

Blanquette gave herself up for lost, but, recalling the 
story about old Renaude, the stout mother-goat who 
had fought her enemy all night, she determined upon 
a brave resistance. So, taking a defiant attitude, head 
down, horns well forward, she prepared for the attack. 
Hurrah ! brave little Blanquette ! She made a splen- 
did fight, I'll promise you ! More than ten times she 
forced the wolf to hold off until he recovered his 
breath. And while he was panting before her, she 
would turn calmly aside to browse upon a juicy tuft of 
grass, returning to the combat with her mouth full. It 
lasted all night. From time to time, the poor little 
creature looked up at the stars twinkling in the clear 
sky, saying to herself, " I have no chance in the end ; 
but ah ! if I can only keep it up all night, that they 
may say of me what they said of Mere Renaude." 

One after another the twinkling stars went out. A 
pallid light came into the horizon. Blanquette fought 



216 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

more fiercely than before, still keeping the wolf at bay. 
Then a cock crowed in a farm-yard in the valley. 
" Morning has come at last ! " said the little goat, 
wearily, as she fell over on her bleeding side. And 
then, the wolf 



" Don't say he gobbled her ! " cried Regi, imploringly. 
" I think she was much too good for that. Poor little 
Blanquette ! I wish she had been my goat. I should 
have led her up on the mountain myself. Please, 
please, don't let her be gobbled." 

" When you visit Provence, you may find out what 
really occurred," answered the pen. " Look up some 
shepherd or mill-hand in the Rhone valley, and ask 
him about Monsieur Seguin's goat." 

" I mean to make an ending for myself," said Regi, 
who had a thorough love for animals, and could not 
bear to see one suffer. " Just when the wolf fell upon 
Blanquette to devour her, a horn was heard, and up 
came running good Monsieur Seguin, who had been 
out hunting for his goat all night. He got there just 
in time to shoot the wolf ; and then he took Blanquette 
home to her own little paddock, where she lived, re- 
pentant and all that, for many years to come." 

" Perhaps you will change places with us, and tell 
us stories," said the pen. " No ? Then I may give you 
another legend of Provence, about a sea-fairy called 
the Lutin." 



On the border of the blue Mediterranean, where the 
Rhone mouths open to empty their tribute into the 
gulf, lived old Margaret with her seven grandsons. 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 217 

" Stay by the fireside, my lads," urged the old 
woman, one evening. " Hear the mistral, how it 
blows ! The very roof is shaking above our heads ; 
and there is another reason, too. Don't you know that 
this is the night when the fairies meet for conference, 
and the Lutins, who do their bidding, are abroad in a 
thousand different shapes, ready to play tricks on the 
hapless traveller ? " 

" Bah ! who cares for the Lutins, Bonnemaman," said 
her eldest grandson, in a mocking voice. " What ! I 
stay at home, when a pretty maid is expecting me. 
Why, the daughter of Jacques the rope-maker would 
hardly close her big blue eyes all night, were I not to 
make my visit at her father's hearth-side before the 
moon is down." 

" And I must fish for crabs and urchins," said the 
second youth. " I am not a bit afraid of fairies or 
Lutins either, Bonnemaman." 

Thus one by one made his excuses, and was off. 
Only Richard the youngest lingered for awhile at his 
grandmother's knee, to hear a story she had promised 
to narrate to him. But, peeping through the chinks of 
the door, he saw the bright moon shining, heard the 
beat of waves upon the shore, and smelt the odor of 
thyme and primroses. Unable to resist their call, he 
too ran off and joined the rest, who were running about 
between the uplands and the beach. 

"What could Bonnemaman have meant?" the chil- 
dren asked each other. "The mistral has ceased wail- 
ing, and now never was finer weather, or brighter sky. 
See how the moon sails in majesty behind the trans- 
parent clouds. It must be certain that the old grow 
cowardly. Who fears the Lutins? Not we ! " and they 
laughed defiantly. 



218 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

Just then the children saw, trotting about in the 
sweet-scented grass near by, a pretty little black pony, 
who neighed when he saw thev noticed him. 

" That must be one of old Valentine's horses, that 
has run away from the stable," cried they. " Let us 
catch him, and have a ride." 

To their surprise, the pony allowed himself to be 
taken by the forelock without remonstrance, while the 
oldest of the brothers climbed upon his back. Next 
another and another followed suit. Last of all, little 
Richard was lifted up, laughing and clinging to his 
brother's shoulders. 

" Now, we shall ride you to the fountain to get a 
drink," said the brothers, urging their steed in the di- 
rection of the watering-place. 

The little black horse whinnied as if he understood, 
obediently trotting off. It seemed as if all the children 
in the neighborhood had. deserted their homes that 
moonshiny night ! One after another of their young 
friends ran after the riders on the little black horse, 
begging that they too might be taken up. Each time 
the little horse stood still patiently, until the new-comer 
had mounted ; and, strangely enough, his back stretched 
until it held at least thirty children, while he only 
trotted more gayly under the burden. 

The children were not satisfied with a gentle trot. 
They struck their heels against the sides of the little 
black horse. " Gallop," they cried. " Gallop, my good 
steed, for you have never had such riders." 

And now the wind resumed its violence. A long 
moaning blast swept over land and sea. The waves 
beat upon the shore, and the little black horse, instead 
of carrying his riders to the fountain, turned and 
galloped straight toward the water. 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 219 

Little Richard thought of his scattered thyme and 
primroses and wanted to jump off. His oldest brother 
thought of the blue eyes of the rope-maker's daughter 
and decided to go back. The others thought of many 
a cheerful sport. All were ready to give up this frolic 
Avith the little black horse, but their steed only went 
faster, till the waves wet his fore-feet. 

When the water came up to the waists of our poor 
children, they began to reproach themselves bitterly 
for their imprudence. 

"The little black horse is a Lutin ! " they screamed, 
u Oh ! if we had only listened to Bonnemaman's ad- 
vice ! " 

These were the last words the unhappy children 
spoke, for immediately the green arch of a mighty 
wave rose before them, and, neighing merrily, as if his 
oats were awaiting him, the little black horse plunged 
into it. 

Next day, poor old Margaret walked the shore, anx- 
iously searching for tokens of her brood. Many of the 
neighbors joined her, for out of almost every cottage 
at least one had been taken. Not a trace of the lost 
children came to sight. Presently, a little black horse 
ran before them capering and curvetting, and dashed 
into the sea. 

" It is a Lutin ! " said the distracted parents, crossing 
themselves devoutly. But the children never came 
home again. 



" I shall take care not to ride my pony near the waves 
when we go to the sea next summer," Regi said. " He 
is black, too ; but I think he is more afraid of the 
breakers than I am. What do you suppose the Lutin 



220 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

did with those children when he got them down 
there?" 

" Oh ! I don't know. Set them to polishing the in- 
side of shells, mayhap ; or perhaps they pounded an- 
chovy paste for toast. That's a grand coast for ancho- 
vies. If you are not tired of Provencal legends, there's 
a pretty one about Brincan, who was loved by a green- 
haired Fairy." 



Brincan was a sailor's son, and his home was tiea? v 
the sea. To aid in the support of his mother during t 
the absence of her husband, he caught fish and sold "l 
them at a good price, since peasants' wives and land- 
ladies were always willing to purchase from the hand- 
somest lad around Marseilles. Brincan's cheek was nayi 
rosy as a lady-apple, his locks were as yellow as gold, 
and his limbs were like polished ivory. When he swam 
with his young companions, he might have been mis- 
taken for one of the beauteous sea-nymphs who play 
on their harps to lure landsmen to destruction. No 
wonder Brincan's coming made the blood quicken in 
the pulse of many a pretty maiden picking grapes upon 
the hill-sides, or roaming beneath the olive-groves at 
evening. It was even told of him, that sometimes, 
when diving in the water, he heard sweet melodies 
from distant harp-strings, accompanied by silver voices 
urging him to renounce his home above, and dwell in 
the sea-king's kingdom. 

One of Brincan's favorite pastimes was, at evening, 
when sea-breezes cooled the burning atmosphere, and 
the little waves broke gently one upon the other, to 
seat himself in a light boat and row far from the town, 
to where, looking back, he could see Marseilles ap- 




( At the portal, a charming fairy stood waving white arms to 
beckon him within." 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 221 

parently floating in a cloud of white vapor lighted by 
fiery gleams. Then he would bend over, gazing into 
the depths of the water, watching by star-light the 
myriad fishes that played below, amid forests of wav- 
ing sea-weed. One midsummer evening, when Brincan 
was thus studying the movements of a star-fish, he felt 
himself drawn downward by some unseen power. 
Around him the water formed a funnel, as he was 
sucked into the abyss, leaving his boat above. Believ- 
ing that he had fallen overboard, Brincan lamented his 
sad lot, calling aloud a farewell to the beautiful earth, 
the dear parents, the loved companions, and the fair 
maidens he was forever leaving. Strangely enough, he 
could breathe in comfort, and as yet suffered no incon- 
venience from the water. Down, down he glided, see- 
ing all the wonders of the deep, passing unharmed 
among the sea-monsters who surveyed him quietly, 
hearing afar off sweet music that was never lent to mor- 
tal ear. At length he arrived at the gates of a beauti- 
ful palace, formed of rainbow-tinted mother-of-pearl 
and scarlet coral, the walls encrusted with pearl and 
the floors made of odoriferous amber. At the portal, 
a charming fairy stood waving white arms to beckon 
him within. 

Brincan looked at her in wonderment. She had eyes 
more luminous than the water in the wake of a ship, 
teeth like rows of her own pearls, a belt of sea-rushes, 
and long green hair that floated below her waist. Who 
could believe that such a soft little white hand had 
power to drag stout ships to the bottom of the sea, or 
that such a musical voice could ordain tempests, and 
control the raging waterspout ? Brincan, without a 
word, fell on his knees before her ; but, whispering 
" I love you, Brincan," she clasped him in her arms. 



222 THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 

At once he sank into a happy trance wherein he for- 
got earth and all it contained. Conducted within the 
palace, the sea-queen told him she would make him 
her husband. The marriage took place, and Brincan 
sat upon the throne beside his lovely wife, while all the 
monsters of the deep, following long trains of mer-men 
and mer-women, arrived to do him homage. But Brin- 
can's stay in the mother-of-pearl palace was short, for 
on the following day, his bride told him he must re- 
turn to earth. 

" Say nothing to your mother of what has passed here, 
or to any one else. When you reach your boat again 
you will find it filled with fishes which will sufficiently 
account for your absence of a night. At least twice a 
week you must row out to the same point, whence you 
shall be conducted in the same manner to my presence. 
Remember you have taken a wife, and let no other 
maiden charm you from me, for the day of your infi- 
delity will assuredly prove the day of your death." 

Now came back to Brincan the remembrance of his 
former life, and with it a strange terror of the tie he 
had formed below. Bidding his sea-wife adieu, he felt 
himself carried upward through the translucent waves, 
till, without being in the least wet, he reached his 
familiar bark, which was filled with silvery fishes of 
such uncommon size and quality as to fetch a high 
price in the market, whither he carried them before 
returning home. Brincan was surprised to see his 
friends and neighbors staring at him curiously, until, 
when he had reached his mother's cottage, she ex- 
claimed that his hair had turned quite green. Do what 
he might, the greenish tinge remained. 

From that day Brincan made repeated visits to his 
beautiful sea-queen, who loved him fondly, telling him 



THE QUILL PEN'S STORIES. 223 

that whenever he ceased to love her in return, he should 
surely perish. In an unfortunate hour for him, he met, 
at a festival among the vines upon the hill-side, a village 
maiden with soft dark eyes, shining hair of a jet black 
hue, and laughing rosy lips. She smiled upon him, 
and the youth felt his heart go out to her, as it had 
never done to any one before. " What matters it ? " 
he said, " the other will never know." So he gave his 
love to the earth-maiden, and for some weeks neglected 
to visit the sea-queen ; and now a strange thing hap- 
pened, his hair lost its tinge of green, regaining the 
golden hue. The earth-maiden returned his love, but 
when he wished to caress her and clasp her to his heart, 
invisible hands pushed him back, pinching and slapping 
him. He fell into a state of languor that could not be 
explained, and wise people whispered it about that poor 
Brincan had fallen beneath the spell of fairy displeasure. 

At length Brincan determined to go and appeal to 
the sea-queen for release from his now hateful tie. 
Once more he sought his little boat, and rowed far from 
the port of Marseilles to the spot whence the fairy was 
accustomed to draw him to her home. Again he was 
engulfed in the emerald wave, sinking with frightful 
velocity ; but, this time, hideous fishes menaced him, his 
ears and mouth were filled with brine, a noise like 
thunder sounded in his ears, and pale, bleeding, more 
dead than alive, he reached the portal of the palace of 
mother-of-pearl and coral. 

At the entrance, her face full of wrath, her green hair 
glittering, the sea-queen stood, and Brincan saw that 
his doom was sealed. He had no mercy to hope for at 
her hands. Nothing could move the fairy — neither 
his youth, his beauty, nor the tears that fell from his 
eyes upon the amber floor ! 



224 THE QUILL PEN'S STORLES. 

" You have betrayed me. You shall die," were the 
only words she spoke, fixing her terrible eyes upon him. 
Then, making a sign with her forefinger, she uttered 
a mocking laugh as two frightful monsters threw them- 
selves with open jaws upon their prey. 



" I like Blanquette and the Lutin the best of yours," 
remarked the boy, patronizingly. 

"Perhaps you would appreciate Brincan more, if 
you heard it sung in the ballad from which the story 
came." 

" I don't mind the way you tell it, so much," was the 
reply. " But I think Brincan was a regular silly, to 
let himself get into such a scrape about nothing but a 
girl! " the last in a tone of immeasurable contempt. 

"You may have cause to change your tune some 
day, my dear young friend," replied the pen ; at which 
Regi looked puzzled, then scampered off with Bran 
bounding at his heels. 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

" Ho ! for merry England ! " said, or rather chanted 
a jovial voice, that Regi thought he recalled, after a 
misty fashion. It came from a settle of curiously 
carved wood, black with age, and beaming with good 
fellowship — or with hand polish, it was hard to say 
which — that stood in a corner of the fire. The little 
boy was very fond of stroking the stags' heads and 
game represented on its back and arms, and of poking 
his finger into the grinning mouth of a grotesque mask 
with horns and pointed ears, that crowned the summit. 

"Oh! I'm so glad it is you!" he cried. "Now I 
remember you perfectly. You said you had not for- 
gotten what it was to be young, and you called me a 
funny name that made me laugh ; ' Younker,' don't you 
know ? " 

"/" know, but the mischief knows how you know," 
answered the settle. " You were safely tucked in bed, 
as we supposed, when the matter was discussed on 
Christmas night." 

" I haven't the least idea," said Regi. " I have been 
wondering over it ever since. But one thing is cer- 
tain, my stories have been splendid. I can't bear to 
think that Twelfth Night will soon be here, and that 
that will be the end of it." 

" Don't mope till the time comes," said the cheery 
settle, " but tell me what sort of a tale you want me to 
15 



226 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

muster up. Have you had your fill of fairies and hob- 
goblins ; or shall it be about knights and dragons ? " 

" About all of 'em ! " cried Regi, with kindling eyes. 

"Odds boddikens ! but you are nothing backward at 
request ! " replied the bench, relapsing into the old- 
fashioned forms of speech it had been his effort to 
abandon in order to adapt himself to the comprehen- 
sion of his hearer. " Ahem ! with every wish to make 
myself agreeable, you must be content with what I have 
picked up here and there in the way of legendary lore. 
Part of it came to me while I was yet a portion of the 
parent oak that stood like a giant in our ancestral 
forest, for you are not to suppose that when we trees 
lean together and rustle, we are not exchanging confi- 
dences. We tell over again what we have heard from 
the wayfarer who rests at noon in the tall fern at our 
feet, and many a laugh is passed along our lines at the 
expense of the lovers who carve their names upon our 
trunks, swearing the while their love will never change ! 
Part of what I know was learned in my later dwelling- 
place, a dealer's shop in a quiet town in one of the 
more southern counties. This dealer was a worthy 
old body, who had the sole care of a little orphaned 
grandchild, Dorothy by name. Dorothy was blind ; 
and, to entertain her, the old fellow would discourse by 
the hour, she sitting in her favorite haunt, a moth-eaten 
sedan-chair, while he worked up his 'restorations' at 
her elbow. Above all things Dorothy loved fairy-lore. 
She would ask question after question ; and, to inform 
himself, the dealer bought up old bound volumes of 
penny chap-books, and other ancient stories, printed 
with the long/ upon a saffron page, afterward reciting 
them till the dull shop and warerooms seemed alive 
with elfin figures." 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 227 

" I like Dorothy in the sedan-chair," Regi inter- 
rupted. 

" Most people liked her, for she was a quiet, patient 
little thing, with long golden locks, and tiny fingers 
deft at knitting-work. Dear me ! Dorothy must be an 
old woman now, or else she sleeps under the. daisies in 
the village graveyard. If there are any fairies left in 
England still, I'll warrant they keep the wild flowers 
blooming over Dorothy. Of all that was told her by 
those books, Dorothy loved best to hear what Shake- 
speare said of 'fairies, black, green, gray, and white.' 
She was always imagining how Queen Mab must look, 

" In shape no bigger than an agate stone 
On the forefinger of an alderman, 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep." 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " shouted Regi, " how she must have 
tickled ! " 

" Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
Her collars, of the moonshine's watery beams : 
Her whip of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : 
Her wagoner, a small, gray-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prick' d from the lazy finger of a maid : 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
Made by the joiner-squirrel, or old grub, 
Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers." 

" That is the best!" laughed Regi, slapping his knee, 
in an ecstacy. "I never knew before that the squirrel 
is the fairy carpenter." 

" And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court' sies straight : 



228 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream : 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues 
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are." 

" So that's where the fever blisters come from," ex- 
claimed the listener, with a comical face. " I'm certain 
Lynchy would believe in Mab, if she doesn't believe in 
any other fairy." 

"Dorothy believed in all of them," resumed the settle. 
" She would often beg her father to read to her a pas- 
sage in another one of Shakespeare's plays, where some 
jolly people are dressed up to represent fairies, and 
their leader is giving them directions what to do. They 
were to jump into Windsor chimneys, and, wherever 
they found the ' fires unraked ' and the ' hearth un- 
swept,' to ' pinch the maids as blue as bilberry.' 

" A lovely fancy, turned over in her mind by Dorothy 
until she could almost see and smell the blossoms it 
embalmed, was that where the fairies are bidden to 
write the motto of the English order of the Garter, upon 
the field at nightfall. 

* And ' Honi soit qui mal y pense' write, 
In emerald tufts, flowers, purple, blue and white, 
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.' 

" Although this little blind girl had only to use her 
grandsire's eyes to look into a world of enchantment, 
such as the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' by compari- 
son with which all fairy chronicles seem tame, she had 
pets among the other ancient rhymesters. There was 
Lylie, who put upon the stage, in the year when the 
1 Midsummer Night's Dream ' was printed, a fairy scene 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 229 

of the daintiest description, wherein Penny, Cricket, and 
their tricksome mates, come on singing and dancing, 
and describe themselves as follows : 

Penny. * I do come about the copse, 

Leaning on the flowers' tops ; 
Then I get upon a fly — 
She carries me about the sky, 
And trip and go.' 

Cricket. * When a dew-drop falleth down, 
And doth light upon my crown, 
Then I shake my head and skip 
And about I trip.' 

" The old man used also to quote the fairy historian, 
Ben Jonson, who told of a revel, spied upon by a peep- 
ing Satyr, hidden behind the trees. Dorothy had many 
a merry laugh over the way the fairy-queen was de- 
picted by the Satyr. 

* This is Mab, the mistress Fairy, 
That doth nightly rob the dairy, 
And can hurt or help the churning 
As she please without discerning. 
She that pinches country wenches, 
If they rub not clean their benches, 
And, with sharper nail, remembers 
When they rake not up their embers ; 
But if so they chance to feast her, 
In a shoe she drops a tester. 
This is she that empties cradles, 
Takes out children, puts in ladles.' " 

" What a fright the mothers must have been in, when 
they woke up in the morning, to find nothing but a 
soup-ladle in place of the baby," said Regi. " Do you 
know any more of Dorothy's favorites to tell me ? " 

" Rummaging among his old volumes one day, her 



230 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

grandfather discovered a play or pastoral, called 
'Amyntas, or the impossible Dowry,' from which he 
picked out here and there a plum of fairy-land. In 
this play there was a foolish shepherd named Jocastus, 
of whom his friends made sport because he had made 
up a new game with which to entertain the king of the 
fairies when he should find him. This game consisted 
of a masquerade of fleas taught to dance Spanish steps 
upon a spider's thread, to be followed by a jig of small 
red ants ! This is the way Jocastus and his comrades 
pictured fairy-land : ' A curious park, paled all around 
with pick-teeth ; a house made of mother-of-pearl ; an 
ivory tennis-court ; a nutmeg parlor ; a sapphire dairy- 
room ; a ginger hall ; chambers of agate ; kitchens all 
of crystal ; the jacks are gold ; the spits are Spanish 
needles ; then there be walks of amber ; curious or- 
chards that bear as well in winter as in summer ; above 
all, the fish-ponds ; every pool is full of nectar, every 
grove stored with delightful birds.' " 

" I'd like to go there for the summer holidays," re- 
marked the little boy, whose cheek had crimsoned under 
the excitement of this glowing imagery. 

"To sit back in her old sedan-chair and dream of 
such things, was the only excursion Dorothy ever made. 
She used often to repeat to herself some verses about 
a fairy wedding, and fancy that she was the bridesmaid. 
Like all young girls, she liked a description of the 
wedding-gown which, in Tita's case, was made 

* Of pansy, pink and primrose leaves, 
Most curiously laid on in threaves — ' 

with a train made of the cast away skin of a snake, and 
buskins of the crimson ' cow-lady's ' wings. Over the 
bride's head was held a canopy of 'moons from the 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 231 

peacock's tail,' and she set up housekeeping with a bed 
of roses, its curtains and draperies fashioned from 
petals of 'flower-imperial,' fringed with harebells ; and 
its pillow, a lily stuffed with down from the butterfly's 
wing. The poet who told of this had perhaps, after 
Shakespeare, a truer love for the tiny people than any 
of the English writers, though Herrick, Chaucer, Dry- 
den, Darley, and even the sober Milton, found them- 
selves astray in Elf-land on more than one occasion. 
It was Drayton who pictured Tita's wedding, and the 
little blind girl in the dusky shop would sing his words 
to a tune of her own composing, ending with this re- 
frain, 

' For our Tita is, to-day, 
To be married to a fay.' " 

" Does anybody know what English fairies ate?" 
asked Regi, presently. 

"Thanks to the poet-spies, we have a good descrip- 
tion of their bill of fare. They sat down at little mush- 
room tables, and were served with countless dainties. 
Among these I will mention grains of rye and wheat, 
brains of nightingale served in a nutshell, pearly dew 
in cups of the acorn, horns of butterflies, bags of honey- 
bees, ants' eggs and thighs of gnats, the eyeballs of 
bats and moles, withered cherries, the tears of a stag 
slaughtered in his own green glade, the heart of a 
nightingale broken with much music, the sugared pith 
of rushes, and so on. Their drink was dew for every 
day, and for festivals cowslip wine served in the chalice 
of a flower. Both before and after eating, they danced 
hand in hand around a ring, leaving the grass there, or 
the moss, greener than that in any other part of field 
or forest. 



232 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY, 

* And when the Moon did hide her head, 
The Glow-worm lit them home to bed.' 

" But you will be dropping into dream-land yourself, 
if I don't give you something to rouse your blood. It 
seems to me, in turning over my recollections, that if I 
were a lad, I should like to hear our old North-Country 
story of the Lambton Worm." 

" What sort of a worm was that ? " asked the child. 

" Not a worm at all, in your way of thinking, but a 
curious monster, half snake, half dragon, who several 
hundred years ago laid waste the borders of the River 
Wear, in Durham. To begin, I should inform you that 
this tale, with little variation, has been handed down in 
the county that gave it birth, and has been printed in 
ballad form, as well as repeated by fireside of cottage 
and of castle." 



It was during the twelfth century, that the Manor 
House of Lambton was inhabited by the ancient Lord 
of Lambton with his wife, son, and daughters. The 
heir, as the son was called, was a wild, reckless fellow, 
who liked to defy the opinion of good people, and to 
make the neighbors stare at his frequent deeds of evil. 
Especially did he resist all efforts to induce him to at- 
tend divine service ; and, on Sunday morning, when 
church bells rang out loud and clear, and from the 
Hall portal issued forth the noble owner, followed by 
ladies and knights, squires, pages, grooms, and senes- 
chals, on their way to mass, the graceless heir was 
never seen among them. Nobody thought of asking 
wherefore he made not one of their pious procession, 
nor did the country-folk who, decently and in order, 
followed the same pleasant path by purling rivulet or 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 233 

under greenwood tree, venture comment on the ab- 
sence of their youthful lord. Too well they knew that 
from year's end to year's end, he never darkened the 
aisle of holy church by his irreverent shadow, and 
that if he spoke at all of holy things, it was to make a 
jest of them. Neither priest nor psalm, neither creed 
nor ave, was sacred from his ribaldry. The poor lady- 
mother might cry her soft eyes dim, the sisters might 
tell their beads and pray for him till they were voice- 
less, and the heir of Lambton would still scoff at their 
useless piety. 

One joyous Easter Day it was, when birds and chimes 
were trying which should proclaim the happy morn 
more noisily, and all the inhabitants of the tranquil 
valley, attired in holiday array, were church-going, that 
the heir, a fishing-rod in hand, and a creel slung across 
his back, went down to try his luck on the banks of the 
shady Wear. It was a lovely morning, the sun shining 
bright, the surface of the water rippled by a gentle 
southwest breeze, trout and salmon giving from time 
to time a glimpse of their gleaming sides as they 
hurried across the shallows to seek the river pools. As 
the voung man stood upon the bank, preparing to cast 
his line, a white-haired peasant, belated on the way to 
mass in consequence of his limping gait, stopped to 
ask whether he did not mean to give up idle sport on 
this, the Church's holiday. 

"Not I!" shouted the heir, with a fearful oath, 
directed against the church. Shuddering, the vener- 
able man passed on, and the youth resumed his efforts ; 
but despite his skill, not so much as a nibble did he 
hav3. Both trout and salmon eluded him, and at 
length, flying into a rage, he vowed he would cast once 
more, and that should be the last. 



234 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

This time his zeal was rewarded, for out came a 
creature, the oddest ever seen, neither fish, nor eel, nor 
lizard, but a combination of the three. Scarcely an 
inch and a half in length, of a deep green color, it had 
rough scales, fins, a long and pointed snout, sharp 
teeth like needles, feet with pointed claws, short ears, 
a jointed tail, and eyes like coals of fire. 

" So you are the prize I've wasted my time and skill 
to catch ! " said the heir, eyeing it contemptuously. 

Close beside him was a crystal spring, welling out of 
the woodland moss, and into this he cast the creature, 
thinking to be amused by seeing it grow and develop. 
By the time he returned there next day, it had already 
made wonderful progress, having attained a foot and 
a half in length, while the wings were long and vig- 
orous, and the eyes shot gleams of lurid red. When 
he attempted again to secure it, the animal darted 
beneath a stone and disappeared from sight. 

Soon after this event, a strange and joyful change 
came over the blasphemous heir of Lambton. De- 
termining to lead a better life, he confessed his sins to 
the neighboring priest, threw himself upon his parents* 
necks in penitential tears, and vowed that, to expiate 
his evil doings, he would join a band of Crusaders and 
journey to the Holy Land, there to aid in driving away 
the infidels. Henceforth his sword was ever foremost 
in the fray, his influence and example inspired the 
Christian troops to deeds of noble valor. Many a Pay- 
nim warrior, many a doughty Saracen was forced by 
him to bite the dust of humiliation, and, in joust and 
tourney, he was renowned above all his comrades. 

After a long and brilliant campaign, the red-cross 
knight returned, flushed with honors, to his native land 
and to the home of his wayward youth. Upon drawing 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 235 

near to the familiar neighborhood, he was surprised to 
see it bare and uncultivated. Instead of the fertile 
meadows and waving fields of old, there were barren 
wastes, destitute of cattle or of any living thing, while 
the doors of the Manor House were barred and bolted, 
as if the place were deserted. When at length he came 
into the presence of his family, the heir found them 
pale and trembling, clinging to each other in ter- 
ror of woe to come, and according to the returned 
wanderer but a cold welcome. 

" How is this ? " the young knight asked, in a wounded 
tone. " In every other country, and at every other 
hearth-side where I have appeared, I was made an 
honored, welcome guest ; and here my own receive me 
in so unkind a fashion ! " 

" Not so, my son," the old lord cried, clasping him 
to his breast. " It is not that our hearts are indiffer- 
ent to the glory of your achievements, and to the pleas- 
ure of your return. But wait until you hear of the 
curse that has fallen upon unhappy Lambton, and you 
will not wonder at our melancholy. Immediately after 
you set out on your crusade, there appeared in the 
neighborhood, apparently issuing from the crystal well 
near the river's bank, a monstrous Worm, or creature 
to which we have been able to give no name. It is 
enormously long, of a dark green color, covered with 
scales like iron, has two strong black wings, a pointed 
snout filled with hideous teeth like a crocodile's, webbed 
feet, hairy ears that stand upright, a jointed tail, and 
eyes that strike one blind with their terrible red glare ! 
Imagine our dismay when it was found that this mon- 
ster, not content with inhabiting by night our lovely, 
peaceful river, would sally forth by day to coil itself 
three times around the base of Lambton hill, where it 



236 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

lay roaring like thunder, and lashing its heavy tail upon 
the ground ! Not a spot in the neighborhood of the 
Hall that was sacred from its fearful visitations. Since 
no farming-man has been found who was brave enough 
to venture within reach of the Worm, it has devoured 
without opposition all our lambs and pigs and fowls, 
has sucked the milk of our cows, has worried our 
horses till we are forced to keep the remaining stock 
shut up in the barns. The entire district north of the 
river has been laid waste. Agriculture has come to a 
standstill, and we are in danger of starvation. At one 
time, the monster, not finding enough to prey upon, 
approached the outer walls of our own dwelling, roar- 
ing frightfully. We held a council in-doors, hastily de- 
ciding to fill a long trough with the milk of nine cows, 
placing it at a distance from the house, in the hope of 
appeasing our enemy. This done, the creature gorged 
himself freely ; but alas ! since that day, he has come 
regularly to demand the same provision. If we are 
slow to supply it, the lashing of his tail upon the 
ground hastens us, and his baleful eyes shoot fire in our 
direction, while trees torn up by the roots, large rocks 
flung hither and thither, and wrathful hissings, show 
what our fate will be should we deny him. More than 
once, certain champions, hearing of our woeful plight, 
have ridden hither to engage the enemy, but after des- 
perate battles have abandoned the attempt to conquer 
him, since wherever he is struck the wound heals, and 
his dismembered portions unite again in a surface 
stronger than a coat of mail." 

The heir bethought him for a space, and suddenly 
there flashed upon him the memory of the creature he 
had fished out of the river on the day, several years be- 
fore, when he had cursed the holy Church. 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 237 

" My sin has followed me ! " he cried, in a sorrowful 
tone. '• It is I, oh, my father, who have brought this 
scourge upon you, and I must rid you of it, or die in 
the attempt." 

So, without tarrying for food or rest, he set out to 
visit the retreat of a famous soothsayer, a venerable 
hag, whose wisdom the peasants held in awe. The 
night was dark, and the wind moaned drearily, as the 
knight strode forward, through brake and fen, to reach 
the ruined hut overgrown with briers and wild vines, 
wherein the witch cowered above a dying fire. He 
made known his errand, offering her gold in plenty, if 
she would find out for him a way to slay the detested 
Worm. Blowing up her embers till, in their ruddy 
glow, she could read the knight's countenance, and 
trace the lines of his palm, the crone pondered long 
and wistfully. 

" There is but one chance for you," she said, at 
length, in a queer quavering voice. " You must have 
made a suit of armor, thickly set with the blades of 
razors both before and behind, and cany in your hand 
the sword with which in foreign lands you slew the 
paynim foe. Then, before setting out for the scene of 
the conflict, make to the holy Virgin a solemn vow that, 
should you be victorious, whatever living thing comes 
first forth to meet you on your return to Lambton Hall, 
shall be sacrificed to her." 

The heir, promising to obey her bidding, bestowed 
upon his ancient counsellor a rich purse of gold, then, 
returning home, carried out her instructions faithfully. 

On the day fixed by him to challenge the monster, 
the heir arrayed himself from head to foot in glittering 
steel, set all around with the blades of sharp razors ; 
and, with gorget closed, vizor set, and sword in his 



238 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

strong right hand, he seemed indeed invincible. When 
he bade adieu to the household at the Hall, loud and 
long were the lamentations heard. Then, while the 
women went down upon their knees to pray and the men 
watched in strained anxiety, the old lord paced the 
floor back and forth, a prey to cruel fears. Not a 
sound broke the sickening silence within doors, each 
one dreading to speak his mind. All believed their 
gallant champion had gone forth to meet a hero's death. 

Forward trod the dauntless heir, to seek the favorite 
resting-place of the monster, where the witch had told 
him the battle must be fought. On a rock, rising from 
the middle of the river which eddied and swirled around 
its base, lay the terrible Worm of Lambton, coiled in 
massive folds, his wings hanging flat, his ears drooped, 
everything bespeaking repose except the glare of the 
fiery eyes, which closed not, day or night ! 

As the knight, with sword unsheathed, plunged into 
the water to wade to the rock, the monster, starting up, 
saw the morning sun gleam upon his enemy's glitter- 
ing armor. At once, spreading his wings, he made the 
valley echo with a cry of awful portent. Bristling his 
scaly back, curling high his jointed tail, showing every 
one of his death-dealing pointed teeth, snarling furi- 
ously, the monster prepared to attack. As the knight 
brandished his sword, his terrible enemy sprang for- 
ward, his tail lashing the rock with the blows of a 
sledge-hammer. But, quick of eye and swift of foot, 
the knight avoided the assault, dealing in return a 
fierce thrust at the creature, who, again and again, 
charged upon the knight, each time bravely repelled ; 
till, after along and wearing conflict, the heir of 
Lambton owned to himself that his strength was spent. 
When he could strike no more, the brand dropped from 




" TJie monster, starting up, saw the morning sun gleam upon his 
enemy's glittering armour." 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 239 

his exhausted hand. And now, rising up to darken 
the sky like a cloud, and uttering a second and more 
appalling cry, the monster winnowed the air with his 
wings, then swooped upon his prey. Staggering be- 
neath the weight, the knight fell prostrate on the rock, 
to be encircled from head to foot in iron coils, till his 
armor cracked beneath the pressure. But now, pierced 
in his entire length by the razor blades, the monster's 
blood began to flow freely, while his flesh quivered 
convulsively. Limb by limb, section by section, his dis- 
severed body fell into the rushing stream, that now ran 
red with gore, till only the head of the Worm remained, 
his bloody teeth gripping the knight's armor, his eyes 
rolling horribly. At last, with a fearful groan, he re- 
linquished his hold, the lurid gleam went out of the 
protruding eyes, and the head dropped like a stone 
into the water ! 

His enemy, the fearful foe of Lambton Hall, was con- 
quered in fair fight, and, seizing his horn, the knight 
blew a loud clear blast to announce his victory to the 
watchers. Wounded and bleeding, he gathered up his 
strength to return homeward, and with eager gaze 
scanned the approach to Lambton Hall. There, issu- 
ing forth to meet the victor, was a joyous throng, 
eager to bestow upon him their thanks and plaudits ; 
and cleaving a way amid the crowd, demanding as his 
right to be first, came his venerable father ! 

The knight stopped short as the remembrance of his 
vow rushed through him like a dart. " Loosen my 
hound ! " he shouted in a voice of thunder, which the 
servants of the Hall were prompt to obey ; and as the 
faithful animal, bounding and barking, ran before the 
old lord to fawn upon her master, his sword pierced 
her heart. With a sorrowful countenance, the knight 



240 THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 

explained his vow, and while the hound expired at his 
feet, the old lord, raising his hands on high, called 
down Heaven's blessing upon their gallant champion. 

But the knight, knowing in his heart that he had 
evaded the real performance of his vow, again sought 
the witch in the forest, to ask her counsel. Heavy- 
hearted, he learned that, in consequence of his failure 
to kill his father, a curse would fall upon nine gener- 
ations of his house to come. 

"They may die in the fight, or in the chase, 
But not in their native hall," 

said the sybil ; and her prediction has been fulfilled. 
The heir of Lambton built forthwith a chapel to our 
Lady, surpassing in splendor and in rich endowment 
any that had been seen in that part of the country ; 
and day after day, year after year, masses were said, 
bells were tolled, candles were burnt, incense was 
spent, to ward away the curse, but all in vain. Ac- 
cording to popular tradition, each head of the family, 
down to the ninth in descent from a certain gallant 
Lambton, knight of Rhodes, died away from his bed 
at home. At Lambton Castle, in Durham, was long pre- 
served an antique figure representing a knight armed 
cap-a-pie, the rear of his armor thickly, studded with 
spear-points, and holding in one hand the head of a 
monstrous serpent, having ears, legs, and wings—while 
with the other hand he drew a sword from its throat. 
Perhaps, if you journey thither, you may see it still, as 
well as Worm Hill, which the famous Worm was said 
to encircle during his hours of ease. 



" Is it a little hill ? " 

" Not exactly ; neither is it very big. 1 



THE OAKEN SETTLE'S STORY. 241 

" How big around, do you think ? " 
' " Say, in circumference about four blocks of your 
Fifth Avenue ; and suppose the serpent to have coiled 
around it more than once ! " 

" Wh-e-w ! " came in a whistle of amazement. 
16 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S 
STORY. 

Regi took up a small horn, tipped with metal, and 
banded with Cairngorm pebbles. Turning it over in 
an absent-minded way, he lifted it to his lips, essaying 
to bring a sound from the long silent interior, which 
resulted in but a melancholy toot. 

"Thank you for clearing my throat for me," said the 
hunting-horn. "What with disuse and dust, I had be- 
come so hoarse, I did not expect ever to make any noise 
in the world again. But ah ! in my time I have set the 
wild echoes flying amid the loveliest scenery you can 
imagine, try as you may. Need I say that I allude to 
my beloved native country — the land of cloud-capt 
mountains and of purple moors, of mist and sunshine, 
calm and storm — of dark and silent tarns, of lofty water- 
falls, and silver burnies " 

"Please," interrupted Regi in a melancholy tone. 
" If all of you would not waste so much time telling me 
how things look, I should like it better." 

" Of course, if you have no love for the beauties of 
nature," answered the horn, " it is wind wasted as well 
as time, on my part." 

"It isn't that," persisted the little boy ; "but I can 
never quite understand how they look. It isn't like 
pictures. Now I never tire of pictures, and when I am 
in the country, or at the sea, I feel as if everything were 



7 HE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 243 

opening before me and stretching far, far away into 
some dream-land. I always want to walk over rainbow 
bridges, and to come sliding down a sunbeam, home 
again — don't you ?" « 

"Eh?" said the surprised horn. "Then, if you are 
not destitute of imagination, it must be that we are 
lacking in descriptive power." 

" I don't know," answered the lad, simply. " It is 
nicer to fancy how things look for one's self than to be 
told, I think. But as I know you come from Scotland, 
and that you were bought there by my father's brother 
when he was travelling in his college holidays, I believe 
you can tell me a great deal I want to hear." 

" Yes, my last owner was a fine young fellow, fit to 
have been a true son of Scotia, instead of a rambler in 
her hills, merely. He was strong and vigorous, tramp- 
ing from dawn to dark over the heather, hunting, fish- 
ing, wading the streams, losing himself on the hill-sides 
in the mist, and often, wrapped in a plaid, making his 
bed contentedly on the moss, under the light of our big 
bright Highland stars. He had a great fashion of wan- 
dering off into remote cottages, and sitting there to 
talk with their owners. I remember we stopped once 
in a house built of turf and clay, with a hard-packed 
earthen floor, and a roof black as the chimney-back 
with smoke and soot. Under the rafters hung dried 
fish, herbs, onions, splinters of bog-fir, and rush-pith 
for candles. Around the fire sat the people who, after 
their work was done and put away, did nothing but 
ask riddles and guess them, till it was time for 
bed." 

" Ask me a riddle," Regi cried. 

" I can only remember this one," the hunting-horn 
replied. 



244 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

" Hobbity-bobbity sits on this side o' the burn, 
Hobbity-bobbity sits on that side o' the burn, 
And if ye touch hobbity-bobbity, 
Hobbity-bobbity '11 bite ye." 

" I give it up," shouted Regi, after due pondering. 
" If I were a Scotch fellow now, or if I knew what burn 
means, I'm pretty sure I should have got it." 

" You need not be a Scotch fellow to know that burn 
means what in New England you call a brook, in the 
Southern States a ' run.' " 

" What was Hobbity-bobbity, anyway ?" pursued the 
boy, ignoring explanations. 

" Hobbity-bobbity was neither more nor less than a 
nettle." 

" I've had plenty of his bites, before I put on long 
stockings. If you could just have seen my legs last 
summer, with mosquitoes and nettles and blackberry 
vines ! Goodness ! The only comfort I had was when 
Bran sat and licked 'em." 

" If you had lived in Scotland, they might have said 
you were shot with elf-arrows. Yes ! ours is the country 
for traditions." 

" So they all say, each about his own country," re- 
marked the boy, judicially. 

"Speaking of elf-arrows," resumed the hunting-horn, 
" reminds me of a tale told to your uncle once, when 
he went into a cottage to have a gnat taken out of his 
eye. The woman of the house, after removing the ob- 
struction and bathing the inflamed eye, insisted on 
touching it with an amber bead, taken down from the 
cupboard shelf. This bead was an amulet belonging to 
her grandmother, she said, and kept in the family to 
ward off fairy arrows flying after nightfall. Your uncle 
laughed, and then she told him of a girl who, going 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 245 

home once in the gloaming, saw a hillock covered 
with daisies, from which came the sweetest music, to- 
gether with gleams of light. Full of curiosity, the girl 
lingered and beheld a train of elfin creatures issue 
forth, with long fair hair hanging upon their shoulders, 
or fastened with combs of gold. They were dressed in 
green, embroidered in patterns of wild flowers, and 
wore silver shoes — carrying bows and, in quivers made 
of snake-skin slung across their shoulders, arrows 
tipped with flint and poisoned with hemlock — so tradi- 
tion said ! Among these fairies the girl recognized a 
little person who, more than once, had appeared at her 
mammy's door, borrowing meal or milk (which was 
scrupulously returned next day) ; but, not daring to 
speak, she held her breath and waited to see what 
would follow. To her great delight, elfin grooms next 
led out of the mound tiny white horses, with silver 
manes and tails, on which some of the fairies mounted, 
testing their bow-strings before setting out for the 
hunt. Others remained to place a green table with 
golden feet, across a rivulet, and to spread it with fine 
bread, wine, and a hundred fairy delicacies. Then 
came a band of musicians in green jackets, with feathers 
in their caps, who played upon instruments made of 
reeds and the stalks of corn. By and by, the hunters 
came back, dragging a young fawn they had shot all 
over with tiny arrows. The venison was roasted, and 
at the delicious smell arising from their cookery the 
girl smacked her lips, exclaiming aloud "Save my 
share." At this, the angry little people fell upon her, 
dragged her about, and finally let her go, after shoot- 
ing out her right eye with a single well-aimed dart. 

" But here am I, forgetting that you must have had 
enough of fairy tales. What do you say to the Black- 



246 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

smith of Yarrowfoot and his two apprentices, who were 
tormented by a witch ? " 



In a peaceful country neighborhood dwelt a worthy 
blacksmith, who had for a wife a buxom lively woman. 
They had no children, and the only other members of 
their household were two brothers, hearty fellows when 
they were apprenticed to the smith ; but by the end of 
the first year, the younger brother began to grow 
sickly. He made no complaint, though day after day, 
the ruddy color left his face, his cheeks became thin, 
while his eyes were starting from his head. He was as 
tired when he got up in the morning, as if he had been 
doing a double day's work, instead of resting in his 
bed. 

" This won't do," said the elder brother to him one 
day. " You'll soon be giving up work for good, if it 
goes on ; and I promised our daddy to look out for 
you. Every time I've asked about yourself, you've 
sworn that nothing ailed you. Now, I must know the 
truth ; or I'll speak my mind out before the master and 
mistress, and get you sent away." 

For some time, the youth refused to speak, but at 
last, taking his brother with him to a secluded spot, he 
revealed a dreadful state of things. What should ap- 
pear, but that their mistress was a witch, who every 
night, when the poor lad sought his pallet, ordered him 
to get up and go into the stable, where, changing him 
into a horse, she jumped upon his back, to ride him 
like mad around the country-side till cock-crow. To 
witch festivals, to hob and nob with many a spirit of 
evil, the luckless fellow was thus carried ; and scarcely 
did he, fagged and aching, seek his bed at dawn, before 




*A wild gallop ?vas that, over ploughed fields and stony glens, 
up hill and down." 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 247 

it was time to be up again and about his daily busi- 
ness. 

When the elder brother heard this sad tale, he was 
much troubled in trying to devise a scheme whereby 
to relieve the sufferer. Both knew that to expose the 
witch openly, would be to bring down upon themselves 
a lifetime of trouble from her trickery. At last, the 
brother hit upon a plan. One night, he crept into the 
bewitched lad's bed, sending him to sleep comfortably 
in his own. He had taken the precaution to hang 
around his neck some sprigs of mistletoe and rowan ; 
and when at midnight the blacksmith's wife, carrying 
in her hand a thick hazel wand, appeared at his bed- 
side, he meekly got up and followed her to the stable, 
submitting to be bridled and changed into a horse, 
which she instantly saddled and rode away. 

A wild gallop was that, over ploughed fields and 
stony glens, up hill and down, at the same furious pace, 
the witch belaboring his sides with her hazel stick to 
urge him forward, till they arrived at the cellar of a 
deserted house, where green lights were dancing with- 
in, and shrieks of discordant laughter issued from be- 
hind the moss-grown walls. Tying her steed in the 
stall of a ruined stable, the witch joined her comrades, 
and ere long they were plunged into the thick of an 
uncanny conference. But you are not to think these 
witches were all old mumbling women riding upon 
broomsticks ! Some there were among them as young 
and pretty as the blacksmith's wife. She, by the way, 
was the chief personage at the feast, in her red petti- 
coat, her blue waistcoat, her jaunty ruff band, and the 
cross-cloth on her neatly plaited hair. One after an- 
other, the witches told their tales and gave in their re- 
ports of mischief done. One of them had caused the 



248 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

farmer's sheep to grow giddy and roll upon the ground ; 
another had stolen the miller's eels; another had 
smitten her neighbor's hogs with mumps ; still another 
had made the parson's beautiful young daughter fall 
into a trance, recovering from which the girl had cast 
up all manner of needles, pins, stones, stubs, wool and 
straw. In conclusion, the blacksmith's wife pulled out 
of her pocket the ugly root of a mandrake, resembling 
a man's face, the roots hanging down to represent the 
beard, announcing that this was the image of her hus- 
band, whom she next intended to bewitch. Then the 
witches, laughing gleefully, promised to aid her in the 
work, and the dance began. 

The elder brother, left standing in his stall, had man- 
aged to rub his head against the wall until the bridle 
fell to the ground ; upon which, to his great joy, he be- 
came again a man. Carrying the bridle in his hand, 
he stole to a chink in the cellar wall, there witnessing 
all I have described. Filled with horror, he resolved 
to punish the sorceress, and as she came out of the 
orgie, intending to remount her steed, he clapped the 
bewitched bridle over her head, converting her at once 
into a powerful gray mare. Leading her, kicking and 
plunging tremendously, into the stable, he put on the 
saddle and jumped into it. Then gathering up the 
reins, he struck her a hearty blow upon the ribs. The 
mare bounded off, and, without mercy, her rider cud- 
gelled her until she tore at top-speed over the road by 
which they came. As they neared the blacksmith's 
house, he turned her into a ploughed field and rode up 
and down at full gallop, until she was dropping from 
fatigue. Then, leading her into the smithy, he nailed on 
her fore-feet a pair of stout horse-shoes and let her go. 

Next day, the blacksmith's wife kept her bed, and the 



' THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 249 

apprentices went about their work as usual. Toward 
noon, the blacksmith insisted on fetching the physician 
to see his poor ill wife, which was done in spite of her 
remonstrance. When the doctor arrived, he found the 
woman covered up to the neck with bed-clothes and 
groaning piteously. Of course, the first thing he asked 
to do, was to feel the patient's pulse, but this the witch 
refused, protesting might and main she would not be 
disturbed. " Stuff ! " said the doctor, who could not 
afford to waste his time on nonsense. So, pulling 
down the clothes, he uncovered her hands in her hus- 
band's presence, and there were two bran new horse- 
shoes nailed to the flesh ! 

The miserable witch, seeing herself detected, con- 
fessed her guilt, and was shortly brought to trial at 
Selkirk, condemned, tied up in a flour-sack and 
dropped into the mill-pond — after which the blacksmith 
and the two apprentices lived in peace for many a day. 



So much for witches, unless it would amuse you to 
hear of another one, who was a tailor's wife. Her 
husband, also, had apprentices, who ate their meals at 
the tailor's table. Many a time, the lads wondered 
why the tailor, who had no cow, should be served with 
the richest milk in the neighborhood ; and once when 
the mistress went to the back of the house to fetch a 
jugful, they followed her, to spy upon her movements. 
What they discovered was certainly surprising. The 
woman had only to turn a wooden peg in the rear wall 
of the house, when immediately out gushed a stream 
of frothing milk, which she turned off when enough 
had been drawn. That day, the apprentices feeling 
thirsty, one of them determined to try his own luck 



250 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

with the wooden peg. Again the milk flowed out 
abundantly, but when the jug was full, he could not, 
in any way, succeed in stopping the ready torrent. In 
alarm, he called upon his fellow-workers for assistance, 
but all in vain. The milk flowed on. Every tub and 
bucket in the house was pressed into service, and when 
they were all full the milk ran to waste upon the 
ground. At this juncture, the mistress returned and, 
casting a look black as thunder upon the apprentices, 
she muttered a few words over the peg-hole, when at 
once the flow of milk was stopped. 

" Don't you know, vagabonds, that you've drawn the 
milk of every cow between the head of Yarrow and the 
foot of it ? " she exclaimed, angrily ; and then, re- 
membering herself, she flounced away without farther 
disclosure. But enough had been said to set the ap- 
prentices to gossiping among themselves. They were 
now certain of what they had before suspected, that 
the gude-wife was a witch. That day a howl arose from 
the farmers along the banks of Yarrow. Every cow 
belonging to them had mysteriously gone dry. And 
from that day forth, the curious apprentices got noth- 
ing for their dinners but "chappit taties and cauld 
kale " (i.e., chopped-up potatoes, with cold boiled 
greens), but not a drop of milk, good, bad or indif- 
ferent, to wash it down with. 

" And now for a border story, into which I shall try 
to weave the substance of two ancient ballads of high 
renown, ' The Colt of Keeldar ' and ' Lord Soulis.' " 

In his stronghold at Hermitage Castle, lived Wil- 
liam, Lord Soulis, a powerful baron of the olden time, 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 251 

known as a sorcerer and believed to be in league with 
such mighty powers of evil that, no matter how cruel 
and tyrannical his actions, no matter how valiant and 
skilled his foe, it was impossible to do him harm. It 
was said that the only possible adversary Soulis re- 
spected, was the chief of Keeldar (a Northumbrian 
district adjoining Cumberland), a man of vast stature 
with great activity and strength, popularly styled the 
Cout or Colt. Keeldar's young wife lived perpetually 
in dread of an encounter between her lord and the 
crafty Soulis ; and, whenever he rode abroad upon his 
hunting expeditions, she would implore him to avoid 
crossing the pathway of the cruel enchanter, whose 
battle-axe was formed of a wonderful stone found in a 
bed of red earth, and whose sword, with its hilt of 
adderstone, was said to insure its owner against all 
mortal danger. 

One autumn morning, when the sun rose red as 
blood above the mountains guarding Keeldar's castle, 
the chief made his preparations for the customary 
chase. Huntsmen were rallying in the court-yard, 
horses chafed upon their bits, hounds uttered im- 
patient yelps to be off, now and again sounded the 
shrill note of the horn. All was bustle and excitement, 
but Keeldar still tarried in his lady's bower, held there, 
if the truth must be told, very much against the will of 
the eager sportsman, whose blood was up for a hard 
day in the saddle. 

More anxious than ever before was the poor young 
lady, since during the night a blood-hound had howled 
beneath her window, surely a sign of evil to come. 
She asked Keeldar many questions about the course he 
meant to follow ; and when he confessed it was in a 
quarter across the border, where Soulis might be met, 



252 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

poor Margaret broke down in tearful lamentations. 
Kissing away her tears, Keeldar laughed at her 
alarm. 

" And what if Soulis carries a hilt of adderstone, and 
an axe of earth-bound flint," he said. " Hast thou for- 
gotten, lady love, that the casque I wear was made by 
mermaids beneath the sea, and that in it I have set a 
branch of rowan mixed with holly, against which no 
sorcery can avail ? Come, cheer up, and let thy hus- 
band see a smile before he leaves thee." 

With this, Margaret was forced to be content. But 
she bore about with her a heavy heart that day, and 
her maidens whispered and wondered, praying that no 
evil might befall their handsome lord. 

Full of life and spirit, young Keeldar put spurs to 
his horse, bounding so far ahead of his followers that, 
leaving the English fells behind him, he was soon be- 
yond sight of them. Thus it came about that, alone, 
save for his hounds, he reached the moor at the foot of 
Redswire mountain. Far as the eye could reach rolled 
the swelling moorland carpeted with reddish-purple 
heath. Above, the frowning mountains met the clouds. 
It was a scene of awful solitude ; and, familiar as is this 
aspect of nature to the huntsman, Keeldar felt, he 
knew not why, a sense of unaccustomed gloom steal 
over him. He longed for cheerful company, and, put- 
ting his bugle to his lips, awoke the echoes of Reds- 
wire. His only answer was the scream of birds dis- 
turbed in their mountain eyries ; and, sounding a second 
blast, he was surprised to be aware of an instant lull in 
the brisk wind, like the calm that goes before a storm. 
Nothing in nature stirred save the withering ferns that 
shuddered under foot. At a third blast, even the ferns 
stood motionless ; and, from behind a large gray rock, 






THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 253 

there started up a swarthy little man of most forbidding 
aspect. 

" His russet weeds were brown as heath 
That clothes the upland fell ; 
And the hair of his head was frizzly red 
As the purple heather bell." 

Upon the arm of the dwarf clung a hedgehog covered 
with tawny prickles ; and, at sight of this uncanny pair, 
Keeldar's hounds howled aloud, flying in an opposite 
direction, while his horse gave every evidence of fear. 

" Who dares awake the morning here, with note of 
horn and stag-hound's cry, without my leave ?" cried 
the wee man, angrily. 

" I might better answer you, if I knew your name, 
and your right to lay down laws," said Keeldar, boldly. 

" Enough for you to know that I am the Brown Man 
of the Moors, and that my home is underneath the 
heather bell," was the response, still in the same harsh 
voice. " But this let me tell you, that, as I choose to 
live here far from the sound of mortal voice, so I bit- 
terly resent any intrusion on my domain, and woe 
betide the hunter I chance first to hear breaking the 
silence of these hills at morning. Accursed be the 
bugle that rouses me from repose ! It were better for 
you never to have been born than to have blown that 
blast." 

Keeldar's threatening antagonist appeared to him so 
insignificant, that he laughed aloud ; whereupon the 
Brown Man, quivering with rage, disappeared beneath 
the stone. And now, with rapid gallop, Keeldar's band 
drew near ; and, when he told them the story of his ad- 
venture, the merry fellows began to wheel around the 
stone on horseback, calling upon the Brown Man to 
show himself again. 



254 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

A curious stone was this, rocking with every breeze 
that blew, and overgrown around the base with thick 
green vervain. To the more fanciful among Keeldar's 
followers, it seemed that the channels worn by time 
upon the surface of the granite were stained as by the 
flow of blood. Upon the top and in the crevices of 
the rocking-stone, sprang a close growth of grayish 
moss ; and, to their dismay, on approaching it more 
nearly, the moss was found to be bespattered with 
drops like human gore. At this token, a superstitious 
awe seized upon the band. They ceased to mock and 
call upon the dwarf ; and at the same moment the crag 
rocked and a voice came from under it, speaking in 
solemn accents. 

" Thou hast defied me, Keeldar ! I shall bring about 
thy ruin, and the ruin of thy scoffing followers." 

" Let us ride hence, my brave comrades. We do but 
waste time from the hunt," cried Keeldar, mustering 
up his courage to speak as if he were indifferent ; and, 
without a word in answer, his huntsmen put spurs to 
horse and galloped after him. 

Away, away from the eerie solitude beneath Redswire 
mountain, fast as stout steeds would carry them, they 
passed, across moor and meadow, by brook-side, by the 
stone cross on the lea, by the burial-place of forgotten 
warriors, through the birch wood, till they came out 
into an open vale. On the far side of a rushing moun- 
tain river, arose a castle of gloomy aspect, shut behind 
frowning walls, around which no signs of life were 
visible. The silence, the isolation of this grim abode, 
suggested a prison rather than a home. 

While the Northumbrian knight and his followers 
paused to survey the scene, a messenger was seen to 
leave the castle and cross the space between them. 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 255 

" My master bids you welcome," he said, when within 
speaking distance. " He was walking in his garden to 
enjoy the freshness of the day, when he heard your 
bugle call. He bids me say that you must join our 
festive board, since never was it the custom of Soulis 
of Liddesdale to neglect the rites of hospitality to a 
stranger knight who came so near his dwelling." 

A thrill ran through the veins of Keeldar and his 
band when they found themselves about to be the 
guests of the redoubtable, the dreaded Soulis of Lid- 
desdale. To refuse his offer would be an insult they 
dared not risk, so close to the famous dungeons and 
torture-rooms of Hermitage Castle. Before returning 
an answer to the messenger, Keeldar called his train 
around him and gave them counsel. 

"We have run into a trap, my comrades," he said in 
an undertone. " Which among you has forgotten our 
friend, the hapless Mangerton, surprised by the bull's 
head brought forward at one of Soulis's banquets, and 
slaughtered on the spot. Let us demean ourselves like 
brave men and true, whatever be the issue, and while we 
sit at meat let every one have his hunting-knife ready to 
plunge into his neighbor's treacherous breast, if the ac- 
cursed bull's head shows his horns." This advice met 
the approval of all of Keeldar's men, who understood, 
better than you do, perhaps, that a bull's frontlet 
brought forward on a silver dish, in the course of one 
of those old border banquets, was the signal for attack 
upon the guests. Gritting their teeth, and riding with 
heads well up — albeit with stoutly thumping hearts be- 
neath their hunting-jackets, I dare say — the gallant 
huntsmen followed their lord across the drawbridge of 
the sorcerer's stronghold. 

And soon, behold them gathered around a great 



256 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

table in a hall lighted by many candles ; minstrels 
grouped at one end of it to play during the repast ; the 
board heaped with haunches of venison, mighty salmon, 
meat and pastries, in lavish profusion. When the hunt- 
ers' appetites were stayed, there were passed around 
massive goblets of red wine, all drinking until tongues 
were loosed to join in a chorus of song that made the 
rafters ring. At the head of his feast sat Soulis, the 
terrible ; but surely none could fear a knight who be- 
stowed upon his guests so suave a welcome ! He talked 
little ; but no movement of the scene escaped those 
deep-set eyes, gleaming like embers in his pale and 
sunken face, between straggling locks of jet black 
hair. 

Before the echoes of a jovial hunting glee had fairly 
ceased, the minstrels began to sing a plaintive old 
ballad " Of Scotland's luve and lee." While yet the 
listeners sat pensive beneath its spell, the measure 
quickly changed. What tune was this they heard ? 
Could it be — by Heaven, there was no mistaking it ! — 
"The Black, Black Bull of Noroway." And, in answer 
to the strain, the door flew open to admit the steward 
bearing aloft a silver dish containing the fatal em- 
blem ! 

With a crash, the music ceased ; the lights went out, 
every man's fingers clutched his knife-hilt, but ere the 
bold hunters of Keeldar's train could strike a death- 
blow for deliverance, a cruel spell fell upon them, 
causing the life-blood to freeze within their veins, the 
hands holding whingers to fall rigid by their sides, the 
eyes full of sudden horror to stare into vacancy. Of 
all the gallant band, the chief alone sprang up un- 
harmed and alert. Wearing the casque made by magic 
hands beneath the sea, and crowned with a sprig of 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 257 

rowan, Keeldar was safe from the power of enchant- 
ment. Striding fearlessly amid the hostile groups, 
past the sorcerer himself, and holding his sword un- 
sheathed in his strong right arm, Keeldar burst through 
the iron portal of the castle, in his fury to be free. 
But he had not fully acquainted himself with the 
horrid device by which Soulis retained an unwilling 
guest. Directly without the portal yawned a gulf, 
where, far below, a mill wheel set with blades was seen 
revolving rapidly, the iron plate that covered it rolling 
back with a grating, jarring noise, at the first touch 
of departing footsteps ! Into this living tomb, the 
chief of Keeldar's unhappy band would have inevitably 
fallen, but that his favorite hound, bounding before 
him, incurred the fate intended for his master. The 
treacherous Soulis, listening within, hearing no human 
cry issue from his death-trap amid the yelpings of 
the dying hound, suspected that his enemy had es- 
caped. /Throwing wide the castle doors, he ordered 
his men to follow Keeldar and surround him. And 
here ensued an exploit the most valiant known to 
border warfare. Fighting with resistless valor, Keeldar, 
with his sword alone, held his own against a band of 
glittering lances, dealing such furious strokes that his 
way was strewn with corpses. Then Soulis himself 
aimed a blow at Keeldar with the battle-axe of earth- 
fast flint, which, however, proved as ineffectual as did 
an assault with his sword of adderstone hilt. Thus, 
backing and fighting, Keeldar was driven to the river's 
edge. 

"And now heaven be my aid ! " the knight said in his 
heart. " If I can but clear this stream, I fear them 
not." 

But at this critical moment, who should rise from the 
17 



258 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

ground to grin and gibber at Lord Soulis's side, but the 
Brown Man of the Moors ! 

"Did I not warn thee, Keeldar ! " he cried in his 
croaking voice. " And must it be that I need inform 
Soulis of Liddesdale that holly leaf and rowan, although 
worn in a casque fashioned beneath the sea, can no 
longer protect their wearer, when he comes to running 
water ? " 

Alas for gallant Keeldar ! Uttering a shout of tri- 
umph, the ruffians closed around him, and with their 
lances forced him into the foaming river. Becoming 
detached from his casque, the " holly leaf and rowan 
pale " floated down the stream. Fought was the last 
light of the mighty " Cout ! " 

Long the Lady Margaret waited and watched for the 
returning of her lord. Neither he, nor horse, nor 
hound, nor any single man of the gay riders of the 
morning, came ever home again. 

They found Keeldar's body, pierced by a hundred 
lance-wounds, lying where the water had cast it upon 
a bank of turf, and there they buried him. In this very 
spot, where silver birches bend and weep, and where 
daisies grow amid the greenest grass, the outline of a 
gigantic mound is pointed out to-day, as the Cout o' 
Keeldar's grave. 

"And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train, 
Within yon castle's wall, 
In deadly sleep must aye remain, 
Till the ruined towers down fall. 

"Each in his hunter's garb arrayed, • 
Each holds his bugle horn ; 
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid, 
That ne'er shall wake the morn." 




The ruffians closed around him, and with their lances forced 
him into the foaming river.''' 1 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 259 

" Keeldar was grand ! " exclaimed the boy ; " oh ! I 
could listen to stories like that all night. If you could 
only tell me one about somebody, I don't care who, 
getting the better of Soulis of Liddesdale ! And that 
little Brown Man of the Moors ! He must have been 
a crusty fellow, if he couldn't take a joke." 

" So far as I know, the Brown Man lived to spite 
many another traveller. He was supposed to be the most 
unforgiving and malignant of the race of Scottish 
dwarfs. But the punishment that fell to Soulis in the 
end was enough to satisfy the least forgiving of poor 
Keeldar's friends. And, since I come of a proverbially 
long-winded family, I need make no excuse for ex- 
tending my narrative. Well, then — " 



Often as this wretch had, with impunity, defied his 
king, oppressed his vassals, and insulted the neighbor- 
ing lords, there came a time when his neighbors felt 
they could bear the yoke no more. So a number of 
the most prominent and trustworthy among them 
waited on King James, asking protection from the 
crown, or at least for a royal warning to the wizard of 
what would be his fate, did he not desist from his 
scandalous outrages. 

The king, promising what they desired, fell into a 
great rage, swearing that if he heard one more com- 
plaint against Soulis, the wizard should be delivered up 
to them to meet whatever punishment they might de- 
vise. 

Thus it came about, that one day Lord Soulis sat, 
oppressed and ill at ease, in his chamber at Hermitage 
Castle. For some time past, a change had come over 
his confident demeanor. He was forever pondering 



260 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

upon the mysterious hint lately given to him by his 
familiar counsellor, Redcap, a wicked household spirit 
he was in the habit of consulting about the diabolical 
schemes he planned. 

" So long as you owe your strength to powers of 
evil," were the words of warning spoken by Redcap, 
" you bear a charmed life. We will warrant you 
against knife and sword, lance and arrow. No steel 
that ever was forged can hold your limbs in bondage, 
nor can hempen rope confine you. But should your 
enemies find out the virtue of a rope made of sifted 
sand, our power is at an end. If an hour should come, 
when danger presses hard upon you, resort to the an- 
cient chest with rusty padlocks that stands in the war- 
lock chamber, knocking thrice upon the lid. Look not 
within the chest when the lid arises, but listen to what 
the voice thou knowest well, shall tell thee." 

Since the day when he received Redcap's caution, 
the Lord of Liddesdale had kept up a keen watch in 
every quarter whence it was possible that danger might 
come. Nervous and moody, he sat alone, till at length, 
calling to his side a page who was quick of wit, he dis- 
patched him upon the tower to see if any living creat- 
ure were in sight, and, were it a horseman, to fetch 
word promptly what livery he wore. 

The page ran up upon the watch-tower and looked 
afar. Beneath him were solitary moors, stretching to 
meet dun hills. No sound broke the silence but the 
song of birds and the flow of the foaming river. 

" I saw nothing but a crow perched upon a broken 
limb, my lord," the page reported. 

"Go back again, you little foot-page, and slacken 
not your watch," was the response. 

This time, the page beheld a dashing horseman, clad 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 261 

in the royal livery, come galloping over the plain. He 
ran hastily to inform his lord, and at once Soulis was 
on the alert. When the messenger reached the draw- 
bridge, he was challenged from the castle wall to tell 
his business speedily. 

" I have come from my royal master, Scotland's 
King," answered the horseman, in a ringing voice that 
all might hear. " I am bidden to mince no words with 
Soulis of Hermitage, but to tell that bloody murderer 
that King James is tired of hearing complaints against 
him from his lieges, high and low ; and that upon the 
next grievance of this sort coming before his Majesty, 
Soulis shall die." 

Having spoken thus defiantly, the messenger turned 
to ride away, but his bridle rein was seized by lurking 
assassins, £nd, without parley, horse and rider were 
plunged beneath the key-stone of that vault where 
many another bold trooper had met his fate before ! 
This done, Soulis of Liddesdale laughed scoffingly, and, 
mounting his steed, rode forth upon a foray around the 
country-side, resolved, by some new act of daring 
cruelty, to show King James how little he feared the 
royal menace. 

At Goranberry Towers, there lived a beautiful maiden 
named May, whose father had promised her in marriage 
to the young heir of Branxholme in Teviotdale. And 
what wicked scheme should Soulis concoct and carry 
out that day, but to make a raid upon the unprotected 
castle of Goranberry, to seize in her bower the terrified 
daughter of the house, and bear her struggling and 
screaming before him on his horse to the grim seclu- 
sion of the Hermitage ! 

" Welcome to your new abode, fairest of damsels," 
he said with a cruel smile, as he set his captive down. 



262 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

" Methinks, it were no small boast to call yourself the 
bride of Soulis of Liddesdale ! " 

When she heard the name of her abductor, May ut- 
tered a shriek of anguish, imploring him to set her free, 
and saying that her troth was plighted to Branxholme, 
who had long possessed her heart. At this, Soulis, smil- 
ing still more, assured her that she had better try to be 
content with the home he had provided for her, since it 
was his purpose to set Branxholme Castle on fire, and to 
destroy her lover before another sun could rise. Leav- 
ing the unhappy girl to stanch her fast-trickling tears 
with the golden hair that fell about her shoulders, 
Soulis went out and summoned to him a sturdy knave 
called Ringan Red, famed in border feuds for his pluck 
and cunning. To Ringan he entrusted the charge of a 
company of spearmen, who were directed to lie in wait 
for Branxholme's heir, in a certain quarter of the forest 
he was likely to pass in hunting. 

Little thought Branxholme's heir that morning when 
he set forth so gaily to shoot the roebuck, of where he 
should sup that night ! Still less dreamed he of the 
fate befalling his dearest love, who sat weeping her 
heart away behind the walls of Castle Hermitage. The 
young laird roamed over lea and hillside until day was 
closing in, before he came in sight of a band of men 
and, taking them to be his own followers, summoned 
them merrily. Was it a glamour that came over his 
eyes, or did the westering sun so shine as to dazzle 
them, that he rode straight forward into danger with- 
out perceiving his mistake. With a yell, Ringan's men 
closed around the object of their hunt, and sent him, 
in charge of a couple of stalwart troopers, a prisoner to 
Soulis' castle, while they rode forward intending to 
set fire to Branxholme Towers before the next day's 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 263 

sun should rise. Soulis received his handsome captive 
with a sneering courtesy. 

" Thrice welcome, heir of Branxholme ! " cried the 
sorcerer. "You have come, I fancy, to be present at 
my wedding with the lovely May, who now awaits me 
in the bower above. By my faith, May deserves a 
bridesman as young and gallant as thou art ! " 

Branxholme was cast into a cell to await events ; and, 
at daybreak next morning, Lord Soulis was aroused by 
the page, who told him that Ringan Red alone, of all 
his picked company of spearmen, had been descried rid- 
ing homeward in hot haste. At this, Soulis' face fell, 
and he hurried out to receive his favorite, now alight- 
ing before the gate. 

" But what have you done with my troopers, and 
where have you stabled my steeds ? " he cried anx- 
iously. 

"The men are stabled with the horses," answered 
Ringan Red in a sombre voice. "As we were crossing 
Tarras Moor, they sank in the bog beneath the quaking 
moss, and all are lost but me." 

Soulis spoke not a word in answer, but an ice-bolt 
seemed to pass through his heart. Hurrying into the 
underground chamber where stood the padlocked chest, 
he knocked thrice upon the lid. The first knock was 
answered by a rustling sound, the second by a sigh, 
the third by a hollow groan. Slowly the lid arose, and 
with averted eyes, the wizard listened for counsel from 
within. 

" Beware of the tree of doom ! " were the words dis- 
tinctly spoken, after which the lid closed as it had 
opened, creaking on rusty hinges. 

" The tree of doom ? " repeated the wizard, a cold 
sweat breaking out upon his forehead. While he yet 



264 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

marvelled there was heard a commotion in the halls 
above ; and, on issuing from his retreat, Soulis was in- 
formed that Walter Branxholme, brother of his pris- 
oner, and a peerless bowman, had rallied a strong force 
of Teviotdale men and was straightway coming to the 
rescue of the prisoners. 

Soulis thought of his slender garrison, and for the 
first time a pang of fear assailed him. Again would he 
take counsel of the uncanny powers who, until now, 
had never failed their devotee. Returning to the war- 
lock's chamber, he knocked again upon the chest, but 
this time, in his eagerness, he forgot to turn away his 
eyes, gazing within as the lid arose. What he beheld 
there no one knows, but he heard a voice cry out in 
sullen anger : 

"Since thou hast dared to look upon me, Soulis, 
the link that binds us two is broken, and my protection 
is withdrawn. Get thee hence speedily, locking after 
thee the chamber door ; and cast away the key that none 
may find it. Seven years hence the chamber door may 
open again, but do thoujeturn no more." 

Soulis knew better than to disobey. Slowly and 
with bitter reluctance, he locked up the warlock 
chamber, casting away the keys where none might find 
them. With rage kindling his heart, he determined to 
kill the heir of Branxholme, before his brother's army 
could arrive. 

" What would you do with me, Branxholme, if you 
had me where I have you ? " was the question he put 
to his brave young prisoner. 

" I should lead you out into the greenwood, and let 
your own hand pick out the tree for you to hang 
upon," was the disdainful answer. 

" So let it be with you, my haughty youngster," an- 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 265 

swered the wizard ; " with your own hand you may pick 
out a tree to hang upon, and should the lady May per- 
sist in refusing to marry me, she shall have the choice 
of another by your side." 

Out into the greenwood, passing between ranks of 
stately pine-trees, in whose topmost branches sounded 
the cry of the hungry carrion crow, they led young 
Branxholme, asking tauntingly if it were his choice 
"upon the tapering pine to feed the hooded crow." 

" When the night wind blows around Branxholme 
towers," the youth replied, "it bows the head of trees 
like these ; and I would not die upon the pine that I 
have loved from childhood." 

They led him farther, to where the leaves of the 
silver aspen rustled mournfully, asking if the gay gal- 
lant were ready to make his choice. 

"Not this of all trees," cried the youth. "More 
dear to me is the aspen than any other, since under- 
neath its varying shade did I and my love exchange 
our vows." 

All the time they were moving from tree to tree, 
young Branxholme kept his keen eyes fixed on the 
undergrowth of the forest dell, hoping to catch behind 
its leafy ambush a glimpse of the sight he longed to 
see. Nor was he disappointed, since soon the gleam of 
steel in lurking met his gaze, and he saw ahead of him 
a band of his own men, each wearing a sprig of witch- 
hazel in his cap and holding a bow in hand. 

" Make haste and choose thy tree, or I shall string 
thee up to the one nearest at hand," cried Soulis, im- 
patiently. 

" Yonder, ahead of me, I spy the tree of doom ! " 
shouted Branxholme in a loud clear voice. Taking 
this for a signal, his men rushed out, and surrounded 



266 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

the inferior force of Soulis, waking the silence of the 
glen with their cheers. 

"A fig for your tree of doom," called out the captive 
wizard, struggling beneath the lances. " Find me the 
hand in Scotland fair, that has yet set the print of a 
wound upon me, and I'll submit, my lords of Teviot- 
dale ! " 

" Now, by my sooth ! " cried out bold Walter, leader 
of the band, " if your saying be true, Lord Soulis, we 
shall soon prove it." And drawing his bent bow he 
sent an arrow straight at the heart of the sorcerer, who 
received the dart unflinchingly, afterward showing his 
breast unharmed. At this a shudder ran through the 
ranks of Teviot men, who insisted aloud that the wiz- 
ard should be burnt upon the spot. 

" Tarry a while," counselled a knight called Thomas 
of Ersyltoun. " It is but fair to inform our prisoner 
that since his last outrage against the King's most 
sacred person, in the murder of his messenger, not to 
speak of the abduction of the Lady May and the cap- 
ture of young Branxholme, King James has bidden us 
deal with you as we see fit, Soulis of Liddesdale. 
Therefore, prepare to die a sorcerer's death ! " 

At a sign, the still defiant Soulis, borne down to earth 
beneath a score of gleaming lances, was bound hand 
and foot with new hempen bands, which he burst as 
easily as if they had been a cobweb. A second time 
they bound him with shackles of new forged steel, and 
these he snapt with as little effort as the first. Then 
Thomas of Ersyltoun, taking from his breast a little 
black book of magic (rescued from the coffin of the 
famous necromancer, Michael Scott, who had vowed 
it should be buried with his bones), sought in its pages 
for a spell wherewith to hold their prisoner. 



THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 267 

" Fetch sand from the Nine-Stone-Brook ; " he pro- 
claimed, at length, with an air of great relief, and when 
his followers obeyed, he ordered them to sift the sand, 
and form it into ropes. 

Spite of their cunning workmanship the ropes would 
not hold together, and indeed, why should they, when 
there, unseen by the vengeful Teviot men, lurked sly 
Redcap, undoing the task as fast as they accomplished 
it. Then had true Thomas of Ersyltoun recourse once 
more to his little black book, in whose pages he learned 
that to form the ropes desired they must add barley 
chaff to the sifted sand. 

Thus, at last, the work was done, and the invincible 
wizard lay bound and motionless at the mercy of his 
judges. Even Redcap fled away from him, as the rats 
desert a falling house. The Teviot men, who had a 
long score to settle with their prisoner, condemned him 
upon the spot to a most painful death, the particulars 
of which form one of the darkest chapters of border 
warfare. 

What you will care more to hear about is the happy 
release of May of Goranberry by her true lover's hand, 
and of their wedding, shortly afterward, when Branx- 
holme and his bride rode under the aspen's shade to 



" No, you very much mistake," interrupted the little 
boy. " I never did see much fun in weddings, though 
they have them as sure as anything at the end of all 
the stories ! And I want Soulis to be punished as he de- 
served. I can't think of anything bad enough — couldn't 
you just tell me all about it?" he added in a coaxing 
tone. 

But the hunting-horn, complaining of a sore throat 



268 THE SCOTCH HUNTING-HORN'S STORY. 

after his unusual eloquence, subsided into quiet, and 
Regi was left to ponder and to wonder, at his leisure, 
over the fate of cruel Soulis. 

He determined to remember every word of the 
Scotch stories to tell Fred. Even Fred, who was al- 
lowed to read novels and newspapers, must be inter- 
ested in these. 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

"I want to hear from you," the little boy remarked 
the next to the last afternoon in the swiftly waning holi- 
days. "And yet, somehow, I don't." 

His conversation was addressed to an old Italian harp, 
of which mention has been already made. It was a 
beautiful little instrument, of highly polished wood, in 
the natural tint of golden brown, painted with loves 
and doves, and hearts and crooks and roses in abund- 
ance, and of a shape quite out of the common. Regi 
had been in the habit of seeing visitors pause before it, 
to be told of some fabulously early date at which its 
maker was supposed to have lived in Florence, and he 
had conceived an idea that if the harp spoke to him, it 
would be about antiquities which he should be dread- 
fully puzzled to understand. 

"As you please, my young friend," answered the 
harp, in a musical murmur. " When one reaches my 
time of life, a century or two more or less of silence can 
make little difference. But when one has been the 
daily companion — the mouth-piece, I may say — of a 
beautiful countess who was crossed in love, it is per- 
haps a lack of dignity to descend to less aristocratic 
converse," and a sigh followed. 

" There you go ! " exclaimed Regi in a tone verging 
on despair. " Crossed in love ! I knew it was coming 
in somewhere. It's worse than the descriptions. I'll 



270 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

just tell you the real truth why I didn't want to hear 
from Italy, and that is because I was sure it would be 
about monuments and statues and love — nothing to 
make a fellow laugh, or to make him feel creepy and 
crawly, or else ready to fight like Keeldar ! I don't 
suppose you understand very well what I mean, it has 
been so long since you were little — young, that is, — 
now hasn't it?" 

" Not so long but that I remember some pleasant 
tales once told around me," answered the harp, amiably 
repressing any slight vexation she might have experi- 
enced at this unceremonious piece of dictation from 
her youthful auditor. " If it were only to teach you 
not to judge everything from the outside, I should like 
to try to win a laugh from you, instead of a sigh. Me- 
thinks there have been woful tales in plenty, of late. 
Let me then give you a sample of my skill in merry 
ones." 



An honorable gentleman was Currado Gianfiliazzi, 
whose great delight was in hunting with hounds and 
hawks. Upon one of these expeditions, his hawk hav- 
ing secured for him a fat young crane of a rare kind, 
he sent the prize home to his cook with orders to pre- 
pare it for supper. Now this cook, Chichibio by name, 
was a simple-witted Venetian, easily hoodwinked by 
any one who set about the business ; and he was for the 
time being wofully in love with a pretty lass, named 
Brunetta, employed as a maid about his master's house. 
When Chichibio had picked, trussed and spitted his 
bird, and put it to roast before the fire, the smell arose 
in appetizing fragrance on the air. 

" How good roast crane must be ! " exclaimed Bru- 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 271 

netta, passing at this moment through the kitchen. 
" If you really loved me, as you say you do, I should 
have a taste of this dainty." 

" Beautiful Brunetta!" cried the cook, rolling his 
great eyes like a calf's, "ask me anything else — an 
almond pasty, or a dish of macaroni, and it shall be at 
the service of your cherry lips. But this crane, the 
first of the season, prepared especially for my master's 
table, 'twould be as much as my place is worth to cut 
a tiny slice from it ! " 

"Then I shall certainly refuse to dance with you at 
the next fescival," answered the damsel, pouting ; " and 
as for taking you for my sweetheart, I'll go farther to 
find a bolder one ! " 

Chichibio's knees trembled and a cold perspiration 
broke out on his forehead, in spite of the burning heat. 
What ! lose his partner for the dance ! Give up the 
hardly-earned favor of Brunetta on account of a paltry 
bird that comes out of a marsh. Never ! 

So taking out his sharpest carving knife, he studied 
the bird's anatomy with a knowing air — deciding fin- 
ally to cut off one leg and, doing as little damage as 
possible, conceal the loss with a grove of water cresses, 
skilfully disposed. Useless to say that the gallant 
cook was fully repaid for his manoeuvre by viewing the 
enjoyment with which his fair one, seated against a 
background of pots and kettles, gnawed at the juicy 
member until only the bones were left ; then, bestow- 
ing upon her admirer an approving kiss, Brunetta ran 
off about her business. 

The supper was served, and in due time the crane 
came on the table, between Currado and a friend he 
had invited home to share his meal. So savory was 
the smell, that the two agreed to divide it equally, and 



272 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

all went well, till it came to the missing leg. " How's 
this ? " cried Currado, " who has had the impertinence 
to taste of this tid-bit before me ? It must be that rascal 
of a cook. Send for him at once, and let me settle 
him with a drubbing." 

Chichibio was dragged into the dining-room forth- 
with, more dead than alive, for he knew his master 
to be a man of his word, and feared a whipping 
heartily." 

" What has become of the other leg of my crane, you 
varlet ? " asked Currado fiercely. 

" Please your worship," stammered the terrified cook, 
determined not to betray his dear Brunetta, " a crane, 
it is well known, has but one leg." 

" Only one leg. Nonsense. Do you think I never 
before saw a crane ? " 

" All the same, sir," persisted Chichibio, " what I say 
is true, and I can prove it to you, whenever you please, 
by the living birds." 

" Very well, then," said the master, who did not 
choose to amuse his guest by further discussion with 
his servant. 

Next morning early, however, he had Chichibio 
hauled out of bed and conducted to the neighboring 
river-side, where before sunrise it was sometimes pos- 
sible to find a common sort of cranes ; and there the 
trembling cook pointed out, exultingly, several of the 
creatures, each standing motionless upon one leg only. 

"Now, sir, you may judge for yourself," said 
Chichibio, scarcely daring to believe his own good 
fortune. " As I said, no crane has more than one leg." 

At this Currado, tempted to burst out laughing, re- 
strained himself and gravely answered. 

" Yes, but I shall show you that they have two." 




ut JVaw, Sir, you may jicdge for yourself] said C/iicAi/io." 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 273 

Then, riding up to them, he cried out aloud " Shoo ! 
Shoo ! " at which every crane quickly dropped his 
other leg and, taking a step or two, flew off across the 
water. 

" Well, thou lying knave, art satisfied ? " asked Cur- 
rado of his cook. 

Chichibio, not knowing exactly whether he were 
upon his head or his heels, answered, " Yes, my lord, I 
grant what you say is just. But, if you had taken the 
trouble to shout ' shoo ! shoo ! ' at that crane last night, 
he would no doubt have put down his other leg, as 
these have done." 

The cook's wit pleased his master so well as to drive 
all thoughts of anger from his mind. Laughing 
heartily, Currado let the poor fellow go in peace. 



" Ha ! ha ! " shouted the little boy. " That's a jolly 
one. Can you tell another like it, Miss Harp ? " 

" I shall try," answered the amiable spinster. " The 
next is about a countrywoman of mine, a widow called 
Masella, who had six daughters of uncertain age, all tall 
as hop-stakes, who scolded from morn to eve, and a 
goose of a son named Antony." 

" It begins well," said the little boy, piling behind 
his back a number of down cushions and stretching 
out his legs, till he looked like an Eastern sovereign. 
" Lie still, Bran ! I'm ready now. Go on." 



When the six daughters had quarrelled with each 

other until they were tired, all united in scolding 

Antony, and his mother chimed in, till the wretched 

lad felt as if he had rather live in a mill with a dozen 

18 



274 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

wheels going around him at once. One day, when 
things looked especially gloomy at home, he made up 
his mind to run away. No sooner thought of than 
done. Anthony ran as fast as his legs would go, down 
the long dusty road, across the plains and up into a 
lonely mountain region, where he hid under a rock 
until the moon came up. Then, hunger assailing him, 
he looked about for the light of some peasant dwelling 
where he might beg for food. Half way up the steep 
hillside he caught a faint twinkle, and, on climbing in 
that direction, saw that it came from a little green 
house made of turf, built under the shelter of a cliff. 
Walking around and around the little green house, he 
spied an iron plate with an iron knocker and, muster- 
ing up his courage, knocked on this. At once a roar- 
ing sound was heard within, like lions. 

" I don't care," said Antony, " I'm used to noise at 
home," and he knocked again. 

This time there was a hissing sound, like serpents. 

"Who cares," said Antony, and he knocked again. 

This time the rattling and the hissing and the roar- 
ing and the groaning inside were something terrible. 
But Antony calmly knocked again. 

And now the noise stopped, the iron plate flew back, 
and out of the aperture peered the face of a blood-red 
dwarf, who harshly bade the boy begone. 

" I cannot walk another step, no matter how you 
order me," said Antony. "I am a poor boy who 
wants food and shelter, and who would not go back 
home for anything, since our house is as bad all the 
time as yours seemed to be just now." 

"What can you do ?" asked the dwarf, suspiciously. 

"Oh! almost anything," said Antony, in a cheerful 
way. 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 275 

" Could you turn the spit, and sweep the house out, 
think you ? " asked the dwarf. 

" Yes," said Antony. " But look here ! If you've got 
a wife or any sisters or mothers in there, I'd rather 
work outside, if it's all the same to you." 

" Come in, I like your principles," said the blood-red 
dwarf ; and at that, a door concealed in the turf wall 
sprang open, and Antony saw his new master stand- 
ing in a very bow-legged kind of a way on the thresh- 
old. The house inside was as neat as a new pin ; a 
little bed, a little table, a little stool, a little pot boiling 
over the fire, and not a sign of lions or serpents or 
wild animals of any kind about. 

" I made all that noise myself," the dwarf said, seeing 
Antony's curiosity. "I always do it when anybody 
calls. It saves going to the door. Now, I like you for 
various reasons ; and you may stay a year, if you like. 
Exactly a year, neither more nor less. Serve me well, 
and you'll get a present worth having, to take away 
with you." 

" This looks nice," said Antony, warming his hands, 
and casting longing looks into the pot, where he saw a 
fowl stewing with vegetables. " But you are sure the 
women folk won't mind ? They'll be coming in, I take 
it, pretty soon." 

" One of my rules is that you are not to mention the 
word woman while in my house," cried the dwarf, look- 
ing fearfully angry ; and on this Antony clapped his 
hands for joy. Everything was exactly to his taste. 

He lived with the dwarf till that day year, and had 
no fault to find with his master excepting his queer 
complexion. He hoped the dwarf had forgotten the 
limit fixed for his stay, but no ! when the day came, his 
master took him to the iron door, and put him out. 



276 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

"Good-bye," said the blood-red dwarf. "You're a 
decent fellow, if not a very wise one. Take that donkey 
tethered on the hill-side, and drive him to your home. 
But on no account say * Out with it, Neddy/ before 
you get there." 

The turf door closed, and Antony did as he was 
bidden. When he stopped to rest on the border of a 
village, he could not help wondering about the dwarf's 
advice. 

" I don't see why I can't say it. It is nothing much 
to say, anyway ! It couldn't possibly do any harm for 
me to say * Out with it, Neddy.'" 

The words were said ; and, on hearing them, the don- 
key opened his mouth and dropped upon the road- 
side a handful of pearls and rubies as big as walnuts ! 

Antony picked these up with a bewildered air, and sat 
there scratching his head in astonishment for a full 
half-hour. Then, putting the jewels in his pocket, he 
walked boldly to the principal tavern of the place, ask- 
ing for supper and a bed, with stabling for his beast. 

After supper, the host, who was a cunning fellow, 
fell into conversation with his good-natured guest, ask- 
ing him where he had been, and what was the strangest 
thing he had seen upon his travels. 

" As to your first question," quoth Antony, " I've 
been to Paradise — since no womankind are there. As 
to your second, don't ask me when or how, but I've 
seen a donkey throw up pearls and rubies, if you think 
that's a strange sight." 

The host roared with laughter, believing the mild- 
mannered stranger to have escaped from some lunatic 
asylum. But Antony, who felt aggrieved at being 
laughed at, took out of his pocket a loose handful of 
jewels, and spread them on the table. 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 277 

The innkeeper's eyes danced in his head with covet- 
ous delight. 

" Mind, I didn't tell what donkey I got them from," 
Antony went on, pleased at the impression he produced. 
" And whatever you do, don't go into my donkey's stall 
and say ' Out with it, Neddy.' " 

" Not I ! " cried the host ; but when the simpleton 
was fast asleep, the cunning innkeeper crept out with 
a lantern to the stable and, stroking Antony's donkey 
on the neck, said " Out with it, Neddy." Out came a 
shower of pearls and rubies, each as big as a walnut, 
and the innkeeper, grabbing them eagerly, hastened to 
lead Neddy into his own private stable, putting in his 
place a common donkey from the green greatly resem- 
bling him. 

Next morning, Antony went on his way, stopping to 
sell his pearls and rubies to a silversmith, who gave him 
for them only a handful of silver pennies, which he 
took, thinking himself well paid. 

When he reached home he found the cross mother 
and the giraffe sisters quite the same ; they began 
scolding him before he was fairly in the house. 

" Never mind," he said, " I've had a year of peace at 
any rate, and when you see the wonder I have brought 
home, you'll die of joy." 

This excited their curiosity, and the six tall sisters 
surrounded him eagerly, actually getting him food and 
drink before he asked for it. Then Antony led his 
donkey out, and bidding them watch well for the great 
sight they would witness, cried in a brisk and confident 
voice, " Out with it, Neddy ! " 

As may be readily imagined, nothing followed this 
invocation, except that the innkeeper's donkey opened 
his mouth and uttered a long and melancholy bray. 



278 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

Again and again Antony tried, but with the same suc- 
cess. At last, his mother and sisters, believing he had 
played a trick on them, fell upon the poor lad and 
drubbed him soundly, seizing upon the donkey to carry 
their linen to and from the wash. 

Antony stood his miserable life at home as long as 
possible, and then the thought came into his head to 
go to his old master, begging to be taken back. So 
one rainy night he ran off and, covered with mud and 
mire, made his appearance next day before the little 
green house on the hill-side. Knocking three times, 
he heard the terrible noises with which he was so famil- 
iar, and at length the blood-red dwarf thrust his head 
out of the aperture as before. 

"Take me back, master," cried Antony. "A dog's 
life have I led down yonder among those women, and 
they've taken away my donkey in the bargain." 

Asking no questions, the dwarf bade him enter, and 
gave him food and clothes, engaging him to be his ser- 
vant for another year. At the end of that time Antony 
was bundled out ; and on this occasion the dwarf gave 
him a table-cloth of ordinary damask, charging him by 
no means to say "Cloth, be covered ! " until he reached 
his home. 

Antony sat down under the shade of a tree beside a 
running rivulet, after he had walked the better part of 
a summer's day, and, just to amuse himself, pulled 
the cloth out of his pocket, unfolding it upon the grass. 

" I'm not going to be such a fool this time, as I was 
the last," he said. " What a silly fellow I should be, to 
lose all my luck, only for the pleasure of saying ' Cloth, 
be covered ! ' " 

Before the words had popped out of his mouth, An- 
tony saw before him a most delicious luncheon of 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 279 

smoking-hot dishes, with a bottle of sparkling wine ! 
Well, what was done could not be undone now ; and, 
falling to, he ate heartily, till every dish was cleared ! 
Then, folding up his cherished cloth, he journeyed on, 
stopping at nightfall at the inn where he had slept the 
year before. 

" How do you do, my good friend ? " said the crafty 
landlord, giving him a hearty welcome and the best 
bedroom in the house. " Order what you will for 
supper, and it shall be served to you." 

Antony could not understand the reason for such 
extraordinary civility, but thanked the innkeeper, 
telling him he should like to go to bed without eating. 
" For to tell you the truth I ate such a meal to-day as 

I never ate before." 

"And what other tavern did you favor with your 
company, sir ? " asked the host. 

" As to that, I had better say nothing. But before I 
rest there's a service you can do me. I have a trifle 
here that I want you to take care of. It's only a table- 
cloth, but thieves are often found where one least ex- 
pects them, and it is better to be on the safe side." 

"A table-cloth!" said the landlord stretching his 
eyes. " That's very odd, now, isn't it ? " 

"Not half so odd, as what happens when you call 
out, * Cloth, be covered,' whispered simple Antony. 
" Onlv, I know I can trust you to do nothing of the 
kind." 

No sooner had Antony's head touched the pillow 
than he was snoring ; and the host, going off with the 
table-cloth, locked himself in a private room, crying out 

II Cloth, be covered." 

A splendid supper appeared in the twinkling of an eye, 
and the dishonest landlord, after eating and drinking 



28o THE ITALIAN- HARP'S STORY. 

his fill, hunted up a table-cover resembling Antony's, 
which in the morning he presented to the simpleton as 
his own. The dwarf's table-cloth remained under lock 
and key in the landlord's private room. 

When Antony reached home, he felt certain of suc- 
cess with his new acquisition ; and his mother and 
sisters allowed themselves to be persuaded that this 
time they were to receive a rare and costly treat. 
Judge of the blows and thumps that fell to the poor 
fellow's lot when they were disappointed ! Some time 
afterwards he ran away again, returning to the dwarf, 
and beseeching him to take him back. 

" Once more, I shall try thee," said the blood-red 
dwarf. " But after this year, come not back again, as 
it is against the rule for us to hire a mortal more than 
three years running." 

At the end of the time Antony went off, weeping to 
part with his good master, who at the last moment put 
into his hand a stout cudgel. 

" Now, on no account, until you cross the threshold 
of your home, say, ' Up, stick ! down, stick ! ' " cau- 
tioned the dwarf. 

Antony, swinging the cudgel in the air, trudged 
home, feeling very melancholy. Hungry and tired, 
since he paused not by the way, he reached the inn of 
the dishonest landlord. 

" How do you do, my best of friends ? " was again 
his greeting. This time, the landlord gave him up his 
own bed, a nice hot supper, wine, a bath, and all the 
comforts. When Antony was about to go to bed, the 
landlord pressed his hand. 

" Is there nothing more I can do for you, dear 
friend ? " he asked. M Nothing that I can take care of, 
and guard from thieves, as I did before ? " 




" ' Well, perhaps you may keep this cudgel for me,' answered 
sleepy Antony." 



THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 281 

" Well, perhaps you may keep this cudgel for me," 
answered sleepy Antony. " Somebody might want to 
steal it, and then where should I be ? It's the last pres- 
ent I'm to get from my kind old master ; and whatever 
you do," he added, in a whisper, " let no one say before 
it, * Up, stick ! down, stick ' until I get it safely home." 

The landlord promised that all should be as he 
wished, and Anthony, turning over, fell asleep. In the 
middle of the night, the landlord, going into his private 
room, heaped with the riches he had obtained from 
Anthony's donkey (for the innkeeper was a miserly 
fellow, and had parted w T ith none of them), took out 
the cudgel and cried aloud, " Up, stick ! down, stick ! 
and this time do your best, whatever it may be." 

At that, the cudgel rose up in the air, descending 
whack ! on the landlord's shoulders. Again and again 
it pummelled him, until, roaring for mercy, he cried, 
" Stop, stick ! " " Don't, stick ! " " Please, stick ! " " Oh ! 
stick," and everything he could think of, but in vain. 
The stick went on pounding, till his howls aroused the 
whole household, and Antony among them. As soon 
as the host saw Antony, he ordered the others to go 
out, and, beseeching the young man's pardon, confessed 
his thefts of donkey, cloth and cudgel. 

" Will you promise to give up all my property, if I 
let you off?" said Antony, thinking himself very grand 
indeed to have a landlord begging his pardon. 

" All ! Every bit of it. Take the stick first ! " shouted 
the host, who was still dancing a jig to the tune of a 
stout oak cudgel. So, as Antony thought he had 
been well punished, he stretched out his hand to take 
the stick, when it immediately stopped work of its own 
accord and stood itself up in a corner very quietly. 

Antony arrived at home riding upon his donkey 



282 THE ITALIAN HARP'S STORY. 

and carrying his cloth and cudgel. The stolen treasure 
came after him in a covered wagon belonging to the 
landlord, who went to bed covered with vinegar and 
brown paper, to stay there for a week. When the 
mother and the six cross sisters saw who it was ap- 
proaching their house, they ran out to meet Antony, 
scolding more furiously than ever, till the poor youth 
had to put his fingers in his ears before he could ven- 
ture to speak at all. 

" Now look out, all of you," he said, mildly. " This 
time I have really brought home a fortune, and if you 
treat me well you shall not regret it." 

" Off with you, oaf, dolt, booby ! " (and a great many 
harder names), they began to shout in chorus, till at 
last Antony, in despair, said : 

" I wonder what my cudgel would do if I should 
cry, ' Up, stick ! down, stick ! ' " 

The cudgel answered for itself by bouncing with sur- 
prising agility into the middle of the group of shrews. 
Taking one after another in turn till it got to the last, 
and then going back again to begin over again, it con- 
trived to give these scolding women all the blows they 
had ever bestowed on Antony, with liberal interest ! 

As for our simpleton, when it was known that he was 
rich, he soon came to be considered one of the wise 
men of his day. 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 

What with the pleasure of Fred's company in the 
day time, and of listening to stories in the late after- 
noon, Regi had never known days fly so fast as those of 
this Christmas holiday. He had been in a trance of 
quiet satisfaction ; and when, from time to time, the 
thought had popped into his mind that such a state of 
things must of necessity be soon cut short, he tried to 
put it awav from him, and was seen to stop and shake 
his head Gently from side to side, as if JDy that means 
he could rid himself of the uncomfortable reminder. 

But no ! There the hateful thing stuck, as if it had 
taken root. Finally, to comfort himself, the little boy 
appealed to his brother while sitting over against that 
luxurious young idler at his tardy breakfast a few 
mornings after New Year. Regi watched Fred sprinkle 
cayenne pepper on his omelette, and make coffee for 
himself in a mysterious apparatus standing at his el- 
bow on the table, before he ventured to put the ques- 
tion that made his poor little heart go pit-a-pat. 

"Are you going back to college very soon, Fred?" 
he asked in a tremulous voice. 

" Rather soon, old fellow," was the answer. " But 
not till I've had a few days of ice-boating with Sharp- 
less, at his place on the Hudson, where we go to- 
morrow." 

"To-morrow, Fred?" repeated the child, his lip 



284 REG PS OWN STORY. 

quivering, despite a manful determination not to show 
his weakness. 

" Yes, to-morrow, and a capital look-out we have for 
sport. This tremendous cold weather of late will give 
us a fair field upon the river. Think of us, Regi ! 
Perched on a triangular platform rigged with strong 
skating irons, and propelled by huge sails, we'll go 
scudding over the ice at the rate of sixty or seventy 
miles an hour, if the wind is strong enough. There's 
speed for you. It's as good as being an eagle ; don't 
you think so ? " 

Wisely determining that the best way to deal with 
the impending sorrow was to divert it, Fred hurried 
from description to description of the exciting North- 
ern pastime until he had the relief of seeing the 
child's eyes clear again, and bright as the sparkle of 
a wintry star. During the rest of the day, at every 
chance Regi had, he haunted his brother's footsteps, 
rubbing against him like a friendly cat, waiting on him 
with joyful alacrity, and gazing up at him with a look 
the elder found it hard to meet unmoved. 

u By Jove, it's more than I can stand not to tell the 
boy the surprise my father has in store for him. He's 
taking this matter of my going off so hard, I don't 
believe I'd have the pluck to desert if there were 
not a substitute at hand. Poor little man ! With a 
disposition like that, he ought to grow up neck-to- 
neck with a half-dozen brothers and sisters, or else 
be sent to boarding-school. I wonder how he'll greet 
the coming change in the management ? If things 
are as I remember them, we shall all be the better 
for it." 

So meditated Fred, while wrapping himself up in a 
fur-lined coat to go with his father for a final sleigh- 



REG PS OWN STORY. 285 

ride. Regi dearly loved to be included in these ex- 
peditions, where, tucked between them under the wolf- 
skins, he gazed out at the snow-bound landscape and 
a road hard as ice under the beat of many hoofs, along 
which sped a bewildering number of sleighs drawn by 
spirited horses amid a carnival of merry bells. But to- 
day his father meant to drive to a greater distance 
than usual, and the little boy was left behind. When 
he had watched them shoot off from the door, the bay 
trotters prancing with excitement in the frosty atmos- 
phere, Regi went up-stairs in search of Rosa. He 
found that good-humored personage busied in dusting 
and putting to rights a large spare bedroom ; and by 
experience Regi knew that when Rosa was absorbed 
in the professional interest of patting pillows and 
smoothing coverlets he could elicit from her little that 
was connected in the way of conversation. For the 
want of something better to do, he hung a rack with 
large fringed towels, and then it occurred to him to 
speculate as to why this long- vacant chamber was put 
in readiness. 

"I s'pose it's Uncle Nathaniel," he said to himself, 
in a discontented way. It must have been a very 
difficult person indeed with whom Regi could not put 
himself into sociable relations ; but Uncle Nathaniel did 
not favor little boys. He was a very thin old gentle- 
man, with a skin like parchment, and jaws that worked 
with a click whilst he was eating. That was one reason 
Regi had for not fancying him ; and another was that 
he hemmed and hawed and frowned and peered about 
him when he came into the room, as if searching for 
an offender. Regi thought this habit was the natural 
consequence of Uncle Nathaniel's having been a 
judge ; and he felt uncomfortable until the old gentle- 



286 REGPS*OWN STORY. 

man had betaken himself back to Philadelphia, whence 
he was wont to come on periodical visits to his nephew 
Standish. 

While Regi was reviewing these pictures of his great- 
uncle, he heard a noise of men carrying something in 
the entry-way ; and, thereupon, the door flew open to 
admit a little new brass bedstead, with mattress and 
pillow like his own. At sight of them Rosa turned 
round in a pet and, scolding the grinning carmen for 
" bloonderin' craythurs, to coom before a body was ex- 
pectin* them," gently whisked Regi out of the room, 
and closed the door in his face. Here was mystery ! 
For whom could the little new bed be intended ? 
Surely Uncle Nathaniel had not yet reached his second 
childhood ! 

Full of curiosity, Regi visited the laundry and the 
kitchen, asking questions of the maids, to be put off by 
one and all with evasions, winding up at last in the 
butler's pantry, where his friend Thomas was busy 
polishing the plate. But Tom, usually the most com- 
municative of mortals, was as baffling as the others ; 
and so was Barnes, coming in to sharply bid his subor- 
dinate "hurry up an' do his shinin', and git about 
them winders." Barnes, off duty, was quite a different 
personage from Barnes in evening dress behind his 
master's chair, and he often relapsed into homely forms 
of speech ; but we must pardon him, since even the 
great need their moments of relaxation. 

Well ! Clearly there was nothing for Regi, but to 
take refuge in the drawing-room, where he had passed 
so many pleasant hours of late, journeying away on the 
wings of fancy across the ocean, without fear of sea- 
sickness, and going from land to land as quickly as if 
he were mounted on Joodar's magic mule. 



REGTS OWN STORY. 287 

Poor boy, he wanted to make his cake last as long as 
possible, and after to-day, closing as it soon would in 
Twelfth Night, he knew that his kind story-tellers must 
go back again into the silence of inanimate things. On 
approaching the room, he became conscious that a 
ripple of talk was going on among them and, drawing 
the folds of a portiere around him, he stood listening 
quietly. 

" Yes ! everybody has done well ! " he heard the 
cuckoo say, importantly. "The astonishing part is 
that these stories show how much has been going on 
outside of my country." 

" If, when you stepped out of your house, you had 
listened more and done less talking, perhaps you would 
not have waited until now to find that out," retorted 
the bull-fighter's sword. 

" The Cuckoo is quite right," condescendingly ob- 
served the French fan ; " I, also, am willing to admit 
that these recitals of the doings of the lower classes 
have been interesting. Though, as to that, parole 
d'honneur, anything for a change from such monotony 
as ours. I am surprised that these Americans have 
none of the fetes peculiar to the celebration of the day. 
I remember how gay "le jour des rois," as we call 
Twelfth Night in France, used to be. Once, my mis- 
tress, holding me in one hand, and a scent-bottle in the 
other, that the atmosphere of bourgeoisie might not 
overpower her, looked on at a merry-making given by 
her servants, called by them "The dinner of the kings." 
They sat, in their best clothes, around a crescent-shaped 
table, at the broadest part of which were stationed two 
raised arm-chairs. A huge cake was cut and dis- 
tributed, and he who found the bean baked in it was 
loudly hailed the king. The finder of the bean, had 



288 REG PS OWN STORY. 

the right to choose his own queen, and was escorted in 
honor to the throne. Next, the king was called on 
to order wine for the whole company and, holding a 
full bumper in his hand, walked around the table 
clinking glasses with the men, and saluting the women 
with kisses on the brow. This ceremony over, he re- 
turned to his place as master of the revels, which 
lasted late into the night. Whenever the king drank, 
or the queen sipped her wine, everybody at the table 
had to cry out, on pain of paying a forfeit, "The king 
drinks." " The queen has drank — " which kept up a fine 
clattering of tongues, one may imagine." 

" What was that for ? " cried Regi, unable to resist 
joining in the conversation. 

The fan executed a delicate shiver, as if to signify 
that no high-bred personage can endure abruptness 
unrebuked. 

"You are incorrigible, child, in point of manners. 
However, I will inform you that the Twelfth Night 
ceremonies I have described were an old French custom 
supposed to be in honor of the three kings of the 
Orient, who carried offerings to the infant Jesus in his 
manger." 

" I could tell your ladyship and our little friend here 
many a jolly tale of our English festivals on Twelfth 
Night," remarked the oaken settle, with a tinge of true 
British reverence to aristocracy in his hearty voice. 

" And I, of like observances in Germany," said the 
chatelaine. " Though, as in the case of madame la 
Marquise, I took note of them only from afar." 

"And I, in Spain," said the Moorish dish. 

"No doubt, all Christian countries unite in honoring 
the feast of the Epiphany," said the settle. " But in 
England, the Twelfth Night sports were common to all 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 289 

classes of society, from royalty down. We had mum- 
mers and masks going about from castle to country- 
house, dressed to represent the Magi ; the oldest, a man 
with a long white beard, had gold in his hand, and was 
called Melchior; the second, a beardless boy named 
Jasper, bore frankincense ; while Balthasar, wearing a 
huge black beard, carried myrrh. Money for the poor 
was given to these characters ; and afterwards the 
company who had received them mixed and drank a 
mighty bowl of wassail — hot spiced ale, full of sugar, 
nutmeg, and ginger, with roasted apples bobbing about 
in it. A cake was cut, containing a bean or a ring, 
and whoever got the prize wore a crown during the re- 
mainder of the feast. The only feature of Twelfth 
Night that nobody enjoyed was the waking up, on the 
morning following. All realized that Christmas fun 
was over, and that hard work had begun again." 

" I'll soon know how that feels," said Regi, fetch- 
ing a deep and heart-felt sigh. " I haven't felt lonely 
a bit, these holidays ; and when I've gone to bed at 
night, I've laid awake trying to remember the beau- 
tiful stories you have all told me, till the world was 
bigger and broader somehow, and I seemed to have 
friends everywhere. Yes, it has been a happy Christ- 
mas, but now it must end. I wonder if I mayn't ask 
you for my last story," he concluded, addressing him- 
self to a photograph set in a pretty French frame of 
glittering Rhine stones, one of those trifles meant to 
deck the boudoir of beauty in idleness. Regi knew 
this had been a bit of his mamma's property, but 
no one had ever told him who was the original of the 
fair face he now gazed at admiringly. For years past, 
he had been accustomed to look into the wide-open 
eyes of the lady of this picture, but, child-like, he took 
19 



290 REGPS OWN STORY. 

its presence in the house for granted without investi- 
gation. And yet, as his awakening faculties made him 
more observant, Regi fancied there was an expression 
familiar to him in the lady's eyes, and playing around 
her clear-cut lips — though no one he knew had those 
beautiful braids of hair, wreathed over a small, proud 
head, or the soft curves of cheek and chin, or the tall, 
lithe figure, wearing so gracefully the robes of lace and 
satin. 

" I suppose, to look at me, you would expect some- 
thing very bright and gay. A story of the primrose 
paths of life, in short. But really, my young friend, 
you could not have made a worse selection. My ex- 
perience has been both limited and unsatisfactory. 
Everywhere I went, I set out in high hope ; but success 
never attended me. However, since you ask me, I 
must speak, if I can do nothing more than draw for 
you the outline of a sketch." 

" But you look as if trouble had never come near 
you," exclaimed the boy. 

"Appearances are altogether against me," sighed the 
photograph, " as you will soon discover, if you have 
patience to hear my tale." 



Eight years ago, in a poor room of a cheap neighbor- 
hood in Paris, a lady was gazing down from time to time, 
with proud and loving glances, upon a little bundle of 
lace and flannel that lay across her knees. There she 
sat, looking pale and wan in the flicker of a tiny coal- 
fire that sent jets of flame into the twilight, and when 
something within the bundle stirred now and again, 
she soothed it, murmuring more fond, foolish words 
than I should dare to tell you. From my post upon the 



REG PS OWN STORY. 291 

mantel-piece I looked at her, and she looked back at 
me. 

" Laugh at me, if you choose, you silly thing," she 
cried, on one occasion when we exchanged a survey. 
" Round and rosy, and prosperous you may have been, 
with your fine gown and your jewelled necklace, dressed 
for a court ball, and wonderfully conscious of your 
looks, madam ; but you had no such treasure as this I 
hold in my thin arms to-night, to boast of ! " 

You begin to suspect the truth, Regi, that I was a 
portrait of the lady herself, taken a few years before, 
at the height of her girlish beauty. 

I remember the day when I came into existence, 
facing her as she stood before the camera of a French 
photographer, who presently held me up to his assist- 
ants as a beauty of the rarest " type Americain." She, 
too, expressed herself delighted with me, in her frank, 
impulsive way, when, a few days later, she brought the 
frame I still wear, to enclose me in. 

" I've been hunting the shops to find the prettiest 
one," she exclaimed. " For this, monsieur, is a present 
to my husband, and you must on no account delay 
sending it this evening." 

"An anniversary, a fete, no doubt?" the man said, 
bowing himself double with the assurance that he should 
not, could not allow madame to be disappointed. 

I was sent home that night and put upon the dinner- 
table, hidden beneath a napkin covered by a mass of 
blue forget-me-nots. She sat opposite, behind a basket 
of more forget-me-nots, and her face was radiant. 
When the time came for a man's hand to lift me from 
my hiding-place, and to turn me to the full light with 
an exclamation of surprise, I heard her laugh — the 
merriest ringing peal ! I think I can hear it now. 



292 REGIES OWN STORY. 

We travelled about a great deal after that, and at 
first I was always carried in a man's dressing-case, and 
set up among combs and brushes and ivory things, 
in a way I did not particularly fancy. Once I was for- 
gotten in the packing up, and they had to telegraph 
for me to be sent after them. Gradually I grew dusty, 
and one day, my double, crying softly, came into the 
room, and, wrapping me in white tissue paper, put me 
in the bottom of a stuffy trunk in the folds of an India 
shawl, where for weeks, nay months, I smothered — no 
one remarking that I had disappeared. 

On the occasion I have described to you, when the 
lady sat nursing her child upon her knee, she had been 
going over the contents of the box where I was im- 
mured, to find an old packet of letters ; and, taking me 
out at the same time with the object of her search, she 
set me in an excellent position to observe everything 
that followed. 

I own I was astonished to see that baby. I had not 
the least idea of such a thing being in existence, and I 
could not share her interest in him. He was fortu- 
nately fast asleep when, with a final kiss, she laid him 
in the cradle and lit a candle to turn over the letters. 

By the yellow look of these papers, and from their 
crackling sound, it was easy to see that they belonged 
to years gone by. Her tears dropped fast over more 
than one of them, and at last, she read aloud a passage 
that seemed deeply to impress her. 

" He was always a reserved boy, and one difficult to 
deal with, but he had deep affections. When I came 
into the nursery that night, and found he had him- 
self taken his crying baby sister from the crib, and had 
hushed her to sleep with fond caresses, I felt that I 
might safely trust her to his care through life — as I 



REGI'S OWN STORY. 293 

now do, my child, beseeching you, for your mother's 
sake, to love one another always, as she loves you." 

When she had finished reading, the lady gave a sob, 
and, running over to the sleeping child, kissed it 
wildly. The letter was written by her dead mother, 
and between the brother it described, and the baby 
sister now grown to be a woman with a baby of her 
own, a great coldness had sprung up, until they were 
like strangers. 

" For my darling's sake, I shall put away pride and 
write to my brother," the poor thing said when she had 
done crying. " I shall ask him to be friends with me 
again ; and I shall send this picture, for I could not 
bear to have him see me as I now am, or to know that 
we are poor." 

Scribbling hastily, she dashed off a long letter ; and 
the clock beside me had struck midnight before she 
signed her name. Then, taking me from my place, she 
wrapped me in a parcel with the letter, and sealed and 
addressed it. That was, necessarily, the last time I saw 
my double, since the next day I was tossed into a 
mail-bag, to occupy, for a week or two, most uncom- 
fortable quarters in the hold of a ship that never let 
me rest in peace, with its rolling and pitching, until 
we reached America, and I was unfolded by the people 
who received me. 



"What sort of a man was her husband?" asked 
Regi. " And what became of the baby ? Was her 
brother glad to get the picture ? And how did you 
come to be here ? " 

" Stop ! stop," said the photograph. " Some things 
I may tell you, but not everything. What I knew of 



294 REG PS OWN STORY. 

the husband in the days when I belonged to him, was 
not so agreeable that I regretted to be sent away from 
him altogether. But she was one of those loving souls 
who see people as they want to see them, not as they 
are. I never heard how things went with her after we 
parted ; nor have I heard of the baby. You see I told 
you the truth ! mine is not much of a story." 

" You haven't answered my question. How came 
you to belong to us ? " the boy asked again. At that 
very moment the door opened, and in came Fred fol- 
lowed by his papa, bringing with them a whiff of keen 
cold air ; and Fred was so full of the exhilaration of 
his drive that Regi had no time to resent the unsatis- 
factory conclusion of his story, or even to reflect rue- 
fully that he had heard the last of his merry Christmas 
budget. But odd things had not yet done happening 
in little Regi's home, as you will see. 



"You may sit up to-night, Regi, since it is Fred's 
last evening," said his father, at dessert. Regi's cheeks 
glowed with pleasure. In a burst of gratitude, he bur- 
rowed under his father's arm after a fashion all his own, 
his tumbled head emerging on a level with the breast- 
pocket. Involuntarily, Mr. Standish tightened his 
grasp around the boy. 

"You'll be lonely after Fred goes, won't you, my 
lad?" he said, kissing him. "And what will you do 
when I tell you Miss Lynch, too, is deserting us, 'for 
good and all,' as you say ? " 

" She don't mean to come back at all, papa ? " cried 
Regi, overwhelmed. In vain he attempted to assume 
an expression of proper solemnity. He drew down the 
corners of his mouth, he forced his brows to meet in a 



REGPS OWN STORY. 295 

frown, but a jubilant sense of freedom from unloved 
rule rushed over him with resistless power. Looking 
into Fred's eyes, he saw there a sympathetic sparkle, 
and even Mr. Standish broke down in a smile. 

" Yes, she is to remain to take charge of a young 
ladies' boarding-school in the town where her sister 
lives. She meant well, Regi, that excellent gover- 
ness of yours ; but Miss Lynch was one of my mis- 
takes." 

" Nothing seems wonderful to me any longer," Regi 
said, his conscience smiting him in recalling the years 
of long companionship during which the absent lady 
had taken faithful care of his bodily and mental parts ; 
and in wondering what made it impossible for him to 
lament her. 

" Let us try to remember the good in her," began Mr. 
Standish. 

"To ease our consciences," said Fred, mischievously ; 
and then, all finding the question of Miss Lynch as 
difficult to handle as a prickly-pear, they by common 
consent put it away from them. The evening sped rap- 
idly in pleasant chat between the father and his sons. 
Never had Regi seen his father so kind, so sympathetic. 
When nine o'clock came, and the boy was about to go 
to bed, Mr. Standish clasped him once more around the 
shoulders and, holding him there, looked down into his 
clear brown eyes. 

" Yes, it was a mistake — a mistake," he repeated, as 
if to himself, "but not the worst one I have made. 
Regi ! " he added, abruptly ; "did you ever hear that 
your father has a sister ? " 

" Oh, yes, papa ; don't you remember the pen came 
from her — the old quill pen that told me about " — the 
Lutin and Blanquette, he was going to add, but was 



296 REGPS OWN STORY. 

interrupted by his father speaking in a dreamy kind of 
way. 

"Yes, you knew that you have an aunt, of course, and 
that she lives abroad. But you never knew that she 
was once the dearest person in the world to me, until I 
married ; your mother loved her too, and often im- 
plored me to take her back into my affections. I was 
her guardian, and she lived with us till Fred was nine 
years old." 

" I can remember Aunt Marian perfectly," said Fred. 
" She was my idea of an angel, in looks." 

" She w T as so in disposition/' Mr. Standish said. 
" Boys, there are some things one gains nothing by 
bringing back again after they are safely in their 
graves. Perhaps it was all my fault, though I lay 
much of it to the misfortune of a certain morose- 
ness of nature that has isolated me from many I loved. 
Marian married against my wishes ; married a man I 
told her I would never receive under my roof. Too 
proud to come to me without her husband, my sister 
then and there went out of my life, as if she had never 
been. When a child was born to her, she wrote to me 
affectionately, and I answered her in the same spirit. 
At that time her husband was ailing in health, and they 
were living in Southern Europe for the climate. Since 
then, he has died ; and, for a time, in Marian's grief, 

she turned from me again, as from one who Look 

up at me, Regi boy, and say that you don't think your 
father the cold-blooded creature he seemed to her to 
be." 

Regi pressed his cheek against his father's hand, 
caressing it in silence that meant more than words. 

" Go on, father, won't you ? " Fred said. " The 
pleasant part is yet to come." 



REGPS OWN STORY. 297 

" A few weeks since, your aunt wrote to me, regret- 
ting our separation. She felt her loneliness, and de- 
sired to renew our correspondence." 

"And then, father?" urged Fred, exultingly. 

"And then, little Regi — for your brother has been 
for some time in my confidence — I sent a cable message 
urging her to come at once to share my home. An 
answer came — ' Expect me.' " 

11 Oh, papa ! " cried Regi, joyfully. " There was 
never anything so nice, except — except your telling me 
yourself ! And when will Aunt Marian be here ?" 

" When I cabled again to find out what steamer she 
would take, she had already left her lodgings in Paris, 
and I have no means of knowing her movements after- 
wards. She will of course telegraph me from the ship 
to meet her, and that should be very soon. God grant 
that it may be very, very soon ! " 

The boys had never seen their father moved like this. 
Each seized a hand and fondled it, till the little scene 
was broken in upon by Barnes, with his usual impas- 
sive face, coming in to make some announcement in 
Mr. Frederic's ear, which caused the young man to start 
and color, and quickly leave the room. 

A moment later there was a flurry in the hall, foot- 
steps were heard and strange voices, and, without more 
ado, the heavy tapestry across the door was pushed 
aside, and Fred appeared, holding by the hand a tall 
and lovely lady all in black. 

What need to tell Regi that this was his beautiful 
Aunt Marian, even had she not thrown herself with a 
sob into her brother's arms, crying and laughing by 
turns, and telling him she had chosen to come unan- 
nounced across the wintry sea, because she wanted to 
convince him that he had done enough in bidding her. 



298 REGI'S OWN STORY, 

What need, I say, when Regi recognized the original of 
the photograph with the frame of sparkling stones ? 

He, in fact, knew more about matters, or thought he 
did, than anybody present ; but he was not at all pre- 
pared for what followed, after his aunt had folded him 
in her arms, kissing him with a pair of velvet lips softer 
than any that had ever touched his orphaned cheek, 
calling him her own, her darling, her most precious 
little Regi. This pleasant experience was hardly at an 
end, before she glided to the door, and returned, lead- 
ing a — wonder of wonders — a live boy, almost if not ex- 
actly his own size ! 

" So it wasn't for Uncle Nathaniel," remarked Regi, 
with an abruptness that took everybody by surprise, 
leaving them to discover, at their leisure, that he al- 
luded to the new brass bed upstairs. The two boys, 
after performing, in the limpest possible manner, the 
exchange of greetings suggested to them by their 
elders, eyed each other like two strange cats. When 
things had settled down a little, they were observed to 
gravitate toward each other, and Regi, opening the con- 
versation as became the Li st, remarked, in a matter-of- 
fact fashion : 

" If you're collecting stamps, I've some ten centavos 
Guatemalas I'd like to trade for Chilis." 

They were soon scampering about the hall with Bran 
at their heels, making more noise than had been heard 
since the building of the house. When, by-and-by, 
Regi found that, like himself, Aunt Marian's boy was 
named Arthur, in memory of their grandfather, he was 
delighted. 

" If you've got half my name, you ought to have half 
of everything. I'll give you the tail end of Bran, even ; 
and you'll live here, always, and be exactly like my 




She glided to the door, and returned) leading a live boy, almost 
if 7io t exactly his enan size." 



REGl'S OWN STORY. 299 

brother. And, I say, Arthur, if you like stories, there 
are lots I'll tell you — splendid ones, that I've never even 
told to Fred." 

And then, Aunt Marian, clasping both children to her 
loving heart, promised Regi it should be as he had 
said ! 



THE END. 



1{i*a4s (5k 






iBM, 






